I'll Pity You When You're Gone
by Vappa
Summary: His own mind lost to him, Raven seems barely alive. At a crucial moment, things change, but can people change as well? Starts in canon, will become AU. xCOMPLETEx
1. The Tragedy Of Life

This idea has been manifesting in my head for at least two weeks now, and I'd like to vent it. Especially since I know the beginning and end, but not the middle. Anyway, this fic is starting at episode 42 ("Raven") of Zoids Classic/Chaotic Century. And we are just going to pretend that Raven never gets a ride with that old man in the Gustav. Other than that, I've tried to get any scripted events down word for word. Trust me, I watched the episode a couple of times before writing this fic. 

I do not own Zoids. All related characters, storylines and trademarks belong to their respective companies.

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**I'll Pity You When You're Gone**

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One: The Tragedy Of Life 

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Harsh sand blew across the desert with tearing force. There was nothing to break the wind, so it flew unabated and unhindered. The sand hills wavered in the intense heat; like a sea of air above the ground. And through this ocean of heat, staggered a man.

He trudged in a straight line, barely changing his pace whether he was walking up a hill or down a pit. The wind tore at his clothes and face, yet he made no move to shield his eyes from the onslaught. Anyone who chanced upon him would think him a poor fool on a persistent journey. But this wasn't true, for Raven had no destination. He didn't know why he walked; he just did. 

Behind his dead eyes, Raven's mind was just as dead. There were no conscious thoughts, no feelings of hope or despair or loneliness. There was nothing, only a fog as deep and dense as water. He didn't observe anything around him, not knowingly. On an obscure level, he knew he wasn't dead. He knew that he lived, breathed and moved. He knew it, but he also didn't know it. The part of him that functioned was sub-conscious; the survival instincts most basic that are the force of life. 

                His step faltered suddenly, and unable to compensate quickly enough Raven crashed to the ground. Lying there, breathing in the sand, he felt no compulsion to get up again. Ashen hair covered his face from the burning sun; he wasn't going to move again.

                But then his lungs rebelled at the sand being inhaled. Coughing violently, he was forced up onto his knees. Involuntarily he wrapped one arm across his torso, and flung the other out into the sand as he heaved. Sparks of pain shot up his arm, his savagely scarred palm scratching against the grains. 

                The coughing got rougher and harder, as another being crossed the plains towards him. Raven dimly heard steps coming closer. Distinctive mechanical steps. His subconscious came into play then as it did when he encountered something abnormal. It forced him to stop coughing, though it could not halt the violent shaking in his body. For some moments Raven just sucked in long haggard breaths.

                The mechanized footfalls halted.

                Still gasping, Raven lifted his head to look upwards. Shadow stood five metres away, staring at him with sky blue eyes that burned in his black frame. The organoid did nothing else; just looked.

                Raven planted his other hand on the ground and pushed himself up. Beneath the choking fog, his instincts harried him to keep going. He managed to get to his feet. Swaying a little, his blank gaze had returned to the ground. The organoid still watched; he could feel him watching. Pulling his eyes up once more, he looked at Shadow – shimmering in the heat - with no interest. Something on the horizon behind Shadow drew his attention.

                A dark huddle of shapes, with lines too sharp and straight to be natural.

                _Army base._

                Without a word, Raven began walking in the base's direction. Shadow swiveled his long neck to gaze after his wayward companion, then followed in his wake.

~*~

"Someone's stolen a Gordos!"

"Security force to the west side, repeat, to the west side!"

                The Republican forces scattered wildly as a blast erupted from the Zoid hangar. Heat waves flew outwards, burning through the dirt and dust. Once it had died down the men took the first opportunity they had to reach their Gunsnipers. 

                As soon as their snouts had emerged from the building, Raven fired again. Missiles impacted the walls and ground, and occasionally Zoids. He didn't care. He wasn't making the choices now.

                His hands on the control pads suddenly pulled back then across together. More missiles shot out of the Gordos, homing in on a Redler that had previously escaped the bombardment. The subconscious thoughts warned that any escaping Zoid was a hazard. Therefore. . .

                "It's just one Zoid!" cried a man from his Gunsniper, desperately swinging around to aim at the hijacked Gordos. "Why can't we handle it?"

                "Are you kidding? Have you _seen _that thing?"

                Any reply the soldier might have made was silenced when Shadow ripped through the middle of his Zoid, instantly killing both man and machine. Shadow emerged out the other side as the Zoid collapsed to the floor. Watching only for a second, the organoid tilted his head back towards Raven. 

                From the cockpit of the Gordos Raven numbly acknowledged the organoids' contribution to the massacre. He shifted his gaze to the left, seeing and not seeing the last of the soldiers preparing to fire in one final showdown. 

                His hands pulled back, then across.

                A deafening explosion rent the air, closely following the intense white blast that had given it birth. The ground itself rumbled, buildings and pillars crashing down around the destroyed base. Gripping the controls tightly, Raven didn't bother to shut his eyes against the blinding light. The Gordos rattled and shook.

                And then the night fell silent. 

                His numb fingers relaxed out of their strangle hold on the controls. All around the battered Gordos fires burned and raged in what had once been an army base. Now it was a collection of rubble and scarred buildings, a graveyard for the hundreds of soldiers and Zoids that were unlucky enough to call this place their home. 

                The orange cockpit hatch jumped open, and Raven felt the immense heat blast his skin. He caught sight of Shadow flitting past to land a few metres away. The organoids' bright blue eyes, so out of place in its darkened metal face, stared up at the Gordos unit. Raven saw, but didn't react for a while.

                Flipping his right hand over, he looked at his palm. The scar was bleeding again. It always did, whenever he found himself piloting a Zoid. It didn't occur to him to bandage it.

                He pushed himself up out of the seat then jumped to the ground. His knees almost buckled when he impacted, but he managed not to fall. Behind him, the telltale groans from the wrecked Zoid magnified as it began to topple over. Hearing the crash, but not truly listening, Raven started walking again. He passed by Shadow without even looking at him, if indeed he'd noticed him at all.

                Staring dully at the ground, he didn't know where he was going. There was no plan for him; he went wherever his feet directed him. The mechanical footsteps started up behind him again.

                He stopped then. There was a wall. Looking up, he saw it was a building that was still fairly intact. Somewhere in his mind, below the fog, where his instincts and war knowledge lay, he knew it was a food hall. This seemed to mean something, as he immediately reached for the doorknob in front of him. His fingers weren't cooperating though, so he switched hands, leaving blood on the handle. 

                Pushing the door open he was met with the sight of tables, chairs, and artificial light. This was so foreign to what he was used to that it didn't make any kind of sense for a few moments. Slowly he understood once more, and entered. The edges of benches and chairs seemed oddly blurred, but he didn't give that any thought. Whenever he came onto an army base things seemed indistinct. The first time he'd noticed that, a vague feeling of unease had arisen. But the instincts just put it down to fatigue: people who were overly tired often hallucinated or experienced foggy vision. So he never thought about it any more. He didn't think about anything anymore. 

                Raven crossed the floor to the other side of the deserted hall, where a small kitchenette had been set into the wall. Pots and pans were scattered across the benchtop as though someone had thought of washing them but were interrupted. Which they probably had been. 

                He began opening the cupboards below the bench, one after the other, and not shutting them when he was done. Empty. Empty. Empty. Turning quickly, he spotted a sink with several cups and plates near it. A sense of urgency came over him, and he snatched up one of the glasses. Filling it to the brim with tap water, he drank it down almost as fast as it had filled, and plunged it back under the stream of water. 

                He went on in this way for five glasses, until finally he started feeling sick. Dropping the cup, he braced himself against the cool tabletop and breathed. Normally he wouldn't do this. Either he had no will to, or the other part of him regulated what he did. 

                But sometimes needs wouldn't be ignored.

                Pushing himself away from the bench again, Raven went to the overhead storage cupboards. There were no other places here to store things in that he hadn't checked. Reaching up, he pulled the cupboard door open and flung his hand in. He fumbled around blindly, unable to lift his head to see what he was doing. He didn't rightly know himself. 

                There wasn't anything there. Frantic now, he pushed his arm in further, still searching. Still, nothing. Strange gasping sobs started coming from somewhere, and Raven belatedly realized it was him. He was about to give up, just lie down and die, when his hand hit something that wasn't a wooden panel. Snatching it up, he yanked his arm back out of the cupboard and brought it closer to his face. 

                It was a carrot.

                Raven stared at it, still breathing hard. Suddenly he felt very tired. Somehow he made his way back around the kitchen benches to one of the larger tables meant for lunches and dinners. Collapsing into a seat, he absently bit into the carrot. He couldn't think anymore. Even instincts seemed too much. And sometimes it wasn't enough. But on those rare occasions when he tried, he couldn't do anything but bring back one memory. A memory of pain and fear and burning. And screaming.

                His vision was blurring further, and starting to fade out at the edges. He felt himself, as though from far away, start to slide forward on his arms onto the table. He shouldn't sleep here. He shouldn't. They'd come soon. . . come and find what he had done. . . he couldn't sleep here. . .

~*~

                Looking out over the fires and chaos, Shadow flicked his tail once. There was no wind tonight, so the fires would not be fed and would soon die down. But not for a while. 

                Growling a bit, the organoid turned and went to the doorway where Raven had been before. He wasn't there now. Shadow ducked his head down slightly and snorted. He didn't like not being able to see where the boy was. Something might go wrong. Shadow had found it hard to get a response out of Raven. And he wasn't looking out for his own safety or well being anymore. Only Shadow did that.

                Shadow bent his spiked head down to enter the doorway. Coming through he noticed signs that this was a human meal place. They always ate together in one spot. At least in the places he went they did. 

                It took only a second to spot Raven. The Zoid pilot had his head buried in his arms on the table in front of him where he sat. It gave the effect of making him look all the more darker, without the stark contrast of his pale skin to balance him. Shadow tilted his head. Judging by the steady - if slightly weak – breathing, Raven was asleep. Or unconscious. There didn't seem to be much difference these days. More often he would pass out than fall asleep, though the result was the same. Shadow made his way over, his metal feet making loud echoing noises around the empty hall. Trying to be quiet was not something the organoid was good at. 

                Gently, Shadow nudged Raven with his nose. The only response he got was a sharper burst of breath from somewhere underneath Raven's charcoal hair. Definitely asleep. 

                Shadow straightened and made his way back to the entrance clearly marked by the dancing flames beyond it. He took three steps outside, then settled back on his haunches. Much as he wanted his companion to sleep, army forces where never far behind them. So he waited and watched, ready.

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OK, so there's chapter 1. Of course I'm not doing EVERYTHING in canon, I had to change some parts or it would be like reading a script, wouldn't it? If you noticed anything off, like bad grammar or spelling, please let me know. It might be intentional, or it might be something I missed. And if I've gotten any Zoids names wrong, I BEG YOU to tell me that! It's damned near impossible to look up this stuff, I'm going by what I think they should be spelled like. 

Until next chapter then. 


	2. A Hole In The Dream

Well sports fans, here's the next part of the story. Let's review. Raven is a zombie (haha), asleep in the middle of a destroyed Republican base, and Shadow is playing watchdog. Of course, we haven't heard from everyone's favorite wonder-man Van yet. ­Never fear, I'm not leaving him out. And I'd like to make it clear that I am NOT planning for romance of any sort. So anyone who was expecting Raven to fall crying into someone's arms at any point in the future should just get a refund and go to another fantasy. Otherwise, I hope you like!

I don't own Zoids, or anything related to them. Raven owns my socks, of course, and I'm willing to let him keep them. But I don't own _his _socks, sadly. 

And the title of this chapter, "A Hole In The Dream", comes from the 14th track on the End Of Evangelion soundtrack. I don't imply that I own it, only that it seemed fitting.

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I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

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Two: A Hole In The Dream 

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                It was immeasurably dark, the kind of dark that only comes with no hint of light to be found. The kind of dark that death brings. It wasn't peaceful, or malevolent. It just was. There was nothing here to make sense of, or think about, or be torn apart by. Only darkness. Slowly though, the aspects of the darkness changed. It was no longer still, and definitely had a feeling about it now.

                Raven felt himself open his eyes, but there was no difference between being asleep and awake. It was still dark. There was a slight sensation of movement: smooth and calculated. Something in the depths of his mind clicked, and he reacted by testing his arms.

                As he had expected, they were loosely bound in cords and wires. 

                He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He let the stray worried thoughts drift into the fog again; he'd been here before. There was nothing to think about. 

                With a slight struggle he'd pulled his left arm free. Lifting it forwards, he thumped weakly on the cool metal plate he knew would be in front of him. He held his arm there for a few moments, resting against the smooth chest plate. Then there was a thrumming noise that seemed to come from all around him. He slumped back then; Shadow knew he was awake. Some nights he was ejected immediately. But other nights, like tonight, the organoid didn't let him out for a while. Raven didn't consider why this was. He didn't need to know anyway.

                Drifting in and out of consciousness, it may have been three hours or ten minutes later that the slow rocking movement of Shadow's running gait began to change. Opening his eyes again, Raven felt the organoid stop completely. There was a hissing sound, and cracks of dim light split open in front of him. The cords holding him back whipped around and away, leaving him to stumble out onto the rocky ground. He was terribly cramped from sleeping in such a small space for so long, and his hand was aching again. 

                They seemed to be in a canyon of sorts. Rock walls towered up above their heads, with a sparkling road of stars above them. It was a good choice, his instincts told him; there were only so many places an enemy could come from down here. But that didn't matter much.

                Raven tilted his head back to look at the stars. They weren't as clear as they used to be. It was as though someone had brushed water over an inking, and made the colours run slightly. The hard points of light were softer now. 

                He didn't know how long he stood there, just gazing at the heavens. He had no answers for himself. He only knew that by day he traveled, and at night he would look at the stars. The only solid points in his empty forgotten life, along with Shadow.

                The sub-conscious interrupted the peace then with an insistence for sleep. Indeed, he was still exhausted. Raven couldn't remember sleeping, but he must have, to have been in the army base at one point and found himself inside Shadow at another. Shifting his gaze downwards, his darkened eyes followed the rock wall along to a blackness. A cave. He stared at it a while longer before heading inside.

                He heard Shadow follow behind him.

                Raven didn't even notice what was inside the hole that passed for a cave. The tiredness was hitting him all at once, and he couldn't possibly stand much longer. Dropping to his knees, he went forward on all fours until he found the freezing rough stone at the other side. Then he fell to the side, and was instantly asleep, letting the fog consume him. 

~*~

                The morning sunlight brought no joy for Van. It only illuminated a horrifying scene. 

                Hardly recognizable was the army base, now only charred and broken ruins upon the dirt. Twisted pieces of metal shone dully through the concrete and dust, along with gun barrels and empty shells. The smell of old fire permeated the air. As Van watched, a wall that had survived the destruction cracked and fell to the ground in hundreds of pieces. A depressing sight.

                "Wow. . . what a mess," he sighed, kicking a stone with his boot. "Whoever did this wanted to make sure they did a thorough job. There's nothing left." He turned to face Fiona with his last statement, but she wasn't looking at him. The Ancient Zoidian was surveying the army site with a closed expression.

                That worried Van. The only times she looked like that was when she was deeply troubled by something. He'd learnt to trust her instincts over the time they'd known each other. What would be a wild hunch or guess with other people was often a premonition with Fiona. 

                Zeke crunched along behind them, a reassuring presence in this wasted place. Van always felt safer when he was with the two of them. It was irrational really; he was more vulnerable when they were beside him. Enemies often tried to use them against him. Like Reese had done. The false ideas she'd planted in his head still gave him cold chills. 

                And nightmares.

                Van's musings were broken by the sound of shifting rubble and a low groan. Startled, he exchanged a look with Fiona then ran forward into the base. Coming around a corner, he spotted a blonde-haired soldier struggling under a pile of broken cement. He looked half-dead.

                "Zeke!" Van called out, coming to a stop next to the man. Dropping down to his knees he tried to budge the top-most slab, to no avail. He'd known he couldn't lift it, but he'd wanted to give it a shot. Now he positioned his hands under the piece below it. If the organoid lifted the top stone, this one could slide down further onto the poor man, and he didn't want that. 

                Zeke trotted over, and immediately knew what Van wished of him. Pushing his steel snout beneath the offending stone, he growled and heaved the slab over to the side, and not without difficulty. Van slid the other stone carefully to the side as Fiona's red boots appeared beside him. He could free the man now.

                As gently as he could he pulled the soldier free from the last stone and rubble. He was badly hurt; both his legs were twisted at painful angles and lacerations made a bloody crisscross of his torso. "You're gonna be OK," Van told him in what he hoped was a calming voice. "We'll get you to a hospital as soon as we can. Just hang in there." He wasn't sure whether the man had even heard him; he seemed so lost to the pain. He was about to ask Fiona to help him get the soldier to the Liger when he spoke in a halting voice.

                "This. . . this was done by. . . a black organoid."

                Van felt as though someone had belted him across the face. His body went rigid, though he only noticed in a vague manner. 

                This shattered everything he'd brought himself to believe these past few years. If he'd been wrong about this one thing, he could be wrong about a thousand other details that could throw him and those he cared about into trauma and battle. He had _seen _the Geno Saurer burst into flames, at his own hands. He had _heard _the screams of rage, and at the last second terror and pain, the last second he tried so hard to forget. But. . .

                Desperate, he tilted his head back to look at Fiona. "Could it be . . . that he's _back_?"

                But he found no comfort in her maroon eyes. She faintly shook her head, pale sunlight hair wavering back and forth. Disbelief, dismay, but not surprise. 

                He knew what she'd been thinking then, since setting foot on the army base. 

~*~

                Daylight was seeping in through the mouth of the cave. Raven could feel it burning on his eyelids. Cracking his eyes open, he shifted so that the glare was below his line of site. 

                The edges of the hard rock were bleached pale in the light, and already the outside world was shimmering in heat. But the wall he leaned against was still mercifully cool. Shutting his eyes once more, he just allowed the sun to come to him. There was nothing around to prompt him into action yet. So all he did was breathe, air swelling into his chest like the tide, then leaving him again like so many other things had done. Like his soul had done.

                Raven never even heard Shadow approach and wasn't aware of his presence until a hard snout nudged his shoulder. He didn't look up, only shifted to pull himself up. Using his left hand to grip the wall, he spared his other hand most of the pain by pushing against his knee. Such slowness in other people would be considered lazy or insolent, but the only thing that motivated Raven was the fact that this was what was. This was what started the day, every day, and it required no thoughts about how it would look, and how to go about doing it. 

                Straightening up he felt slightly dizzy. Most likely it stemmed from the empty feeling in his stomach. Water and carrots weren't the best diet. It was all he had though, for he didn't deviate to go hunting for food. Such pursuits were irrelevant, and didn't occur to him except in the direst of situations. He went to the entrance of the cave and blinked. The desert sun was harsh, even at this early hour. 

                The dark organoid slid up beside him once more, his silent presence strangely fitting the spiked creature. They would separate once out of the canyon. Shadow never came close to Raven unless they happened upon a base. But he still followed the same path, looking to him for direction.

                Feeling oddly numb, Raven set out into the natural walled street. Even rudimentary feeling escaped him today.

~*~

The base was a hive of activity, more so than was usual for a place of this size. Word had gotten around that something was afoot, which started wild rumors amongst the soldiers. Indeed, Van often thought that run-of-the-mill army personnel could challenge any wives' club in their ability to gossip. 

Not that they gossiped about related subjects.

He just started reading the bulletin board when an excited growl came from Zeke's direction. Glancing up, Van saw that the gates of the base were grating downwards, to admit a Zoid. A few moments more revealed that the Zoid was the one he'd been waiting to see. 

Tapping Fiona on the shoulder, they both made their way across the wide Zoid launching area towards the gates, with Zeke trailing along behind them. They stopped a few metres from the green and grey plated Di Bison. 

The orange tinted cockpit popped up and Thomas dropped to the ground in front of them shortly after. Straightening up once more, the Imperial tilted his head down slightly to look at Van. It was a pet peeve of Van's that Thomas was taller than he was. In fact, he didn't like anyone being taller than him. It made him feel more like a kid than he really was.

Plus he had the sneaking suspicion that Thomas distinctly enjoyed looking down on him.

He didn't look so happy at the moment though; there was a mixed look of curiosity and importance on the man's pale face. Van decided to break the ice.

"Hey Thomas, thanks for coming. We're glad you're here." Immediately Thomas got that air of superiority around him that had annoyed Van at first, but had come to accept as part of his character.

"I must admit I was a little surprised that you called on me. But I'm very pleased that you did. So are you going to give me the low down on the situation?" The last sentence came with a pointed look from his vivid green eyes. 

"It looks like our military facilities are being specifically targeted for attack one by one." The young Shubaltz suddenly looked as grave as Van felt. "If you can believe it, it's one Zoid. First, whoever it is –"

"He destroys everything. I know about it," Thomas interrupted, with the tone of someone realizing his guess had been right, and hadn't wanted it to be. "He doesn't leave the base until everything inside it has been blown to smithereens. It's a terrible business."

There was an uneasy silence between the three companions. 

"Then I guess you must know about the black organoid," Fiona ventured. Thomas, however, looked surprised. 

"Huh? You're kidding me, right?" Whatever he saw on their faces darkened his expression. "You're not. It's true? That means . . . he must be back."

"It's certainly starting to look that way," Van sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He heard Zeke shift uncomfortably in the background. These kind of confrontations must give off a bad vibe or something. 

"Let's go inside. It's no good discussing this kind of thing out here, and I for one could use a cup of coffee," Fiona bravely put in. She'd picked up on the strain as well. Van smiled thankfully at her. 

Thomas looked slightly thrilled. "Of course Miss Fiona. I'll go get the salt, shall I?"

~*~

"So although it seems incredible, all signs are that he's returned," Van stated, stirring his half-drank tea absently. 

"But I thought you defeated him in battle a long time ago," questioned Thomas. Of course, Van thought, everyone thought that. No one had questioned him, just accepted his word.

"I _did_ destroy his Geno Saurer," he muttered. "I just assumed that he'd have been destroyed too." Thomas gave him a degrading look, then turned his attention back to his cup.

"You should never assume _anything._" This burned Van. Thomas was always out to find the slightest flaw in what he did. He was only _fourteen_ at the time, couldn't he give him a little slack?

"I _know_, but what's done is done." Thomas seemed to get the point then, for he remained patiently quiet. Relieved, Van reached for his bag and dug around, pulling out a map. Unfolding it, he laid it on the cracked laminated table in front of him. "There's a straightforward pattern to this series of attacks. He's been slowly moving east and targeting military facilities along the way." He traced his finger along the red dots, accentuating his point. "If he follows that pattern his next target will be this base, which is why we've been called in to help them out here. So that's the situation. You wanna come on board?"

When Thomas' answer was a few moments coming he glanced up. The slanting sunlight from the window gave his face a sharper look, and his tawny-gold hair seemed to spark.

"The hero can't do it on his own?"

Resisting the urge to whack the Guardian in the head for good measure, Van fumed silently and looked out the window. That man didn't know when to quit, or just couldn't stop himself. He watched a group of soldiers on the ground below surveying a damaged Darkhorn. It seemed to have a problem with its front right leg, judging by the way the Zoid lilted to the side. A few seconds later and the soldiers seemed to figure that out as well. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the matters at hand.

"This isn't about me, so cut the wisecracks. Will you do it or not? Remember this is Raven we're dealing with," Van said, forcing himself to say the hated name. He hadn't said that name in years. He hadn't wanted to, ever again. With his gaze fixed on his tea, Van never noticed Thomas' expression soften slightly.

"Well... OK then. I'll do it. I've always wondered if Raven could live up to his reputation. An interesting challenge."

"Just be careful Thomas," Fiona murmured. The Imperial lieutenant looked up in surprise and Van saw him flush before he turned away again. 

"I appreciate your concern Miss Fiona, but I'll be fine." 

"Well it's just ... dont' underestimate him." The heaviness in her tone brought Van back to reality. It was all well and good to get embarrassed over other people's feelings but now was not the time. He glanced back at Thomas, who was stirring his cup with an air of gloom, and expectation. _I hope it wasn't a mistake bringing him into this mission, _he thought morosely. 

"So what's the plan, Van?" Thomas asked brightly, obviously trying to clear the air of hostility. Van was thankful. He knew Thomas didn't really think ill of him. He was probably just suffering the younger brother syndrome again. He grinned at the other Guardian.

"First of all we finish our tea, then we think of a plan."

~*~

Looking out at the plains of the desert, Fiona tried to take it all in. It seemed like such a harsh place, she couldn't imagine anyone crossing it on foot. Yet, that must be what he was doing, to elude the radar. . .

How was she supposed to handle this? People were not supposed to come back from the dead to haunt you. She felt the old fear creeping into her heart once more. She hoped like she had never done that there had been a mistake, that it was some other organoid, or none at all. She even found herself hoping that he'd be dead. She'd never hoped that before.

And she didn't know if she liked the thought.

She was trailing her gaze along the Iron Kongs stationed outside the base when she heard footsteps behind her. Fiona didn't turn around though: she knew that walk better than she knew herself. 

"Hey Fiona, I was looking for you," Van said quietly, coming up beside her in the watchtower. "You seemed a bit quiet. I wanted to check on you." She smiled absently. Van was always worried about her. He cared so much about others, she sometimes wondered if there was enough room left in his heart for himself. 

"Yeah, I'm OK. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Fiona knew perfectly well that question was just a courtesy. There was only one thing that could possibly be on her mind, and Van knew it. 

"About the black organoid. Do you _really _think that means Raven's back?"

Van looked at her for a long time, his face closed off and unreadable. She knew this meant a great deal to him. In truth, she was more worried for Van than about Raven. She knew things that other people didn't. She wanted to know what Van thought. Finally, he shut his eyes and said "Could be. . . but there's no need to worry. You know I'll be there for you."

She forced a smile. "Yes." _As you always are, Van. But what about _you?

Suddenly, violently bright flares shot up into the sky, and the alarms around the base began to blare. Fiona, startled, looked around frantically for the cause of the alert. And then she saw a plume of dirt and dust rising from the west.

He was coming.

She barely had time to see the Iron Kongs begin firing at the distant Zoid, a Redler flying too close to the ground, before both she and Van were hurtling down the stairs of the watchtower. 

Van reached the end of the stairs before her, and was running full pelt towards the nearby Blade Liger. She tried her best to keep up but in the end he got there before her. Leaping into the cockpit he shouted at her to stay where she was.

"No Van! I'm coming with you!" she yelled back, and before he could object she'd hauled herself up the Liger's leg and was inside the cockpit with him. The orange hatch snapped shut with a hiss as she sat down in the rear seat. Van was looking at her with something resembling exasperation, and possibly nervousness. Then he turned back to the fray.

"Alright then. . . _Zeke!_"

The familiar howl of the silver organoid echoed his call, and a hot beam of light shot into the Liger's core. With a roar, they set off towards the western gates. They barreled past the Di Bison, which was just beginning to activate, heading for the sharp bursts of gunfire blazing up above the compound walls.

Van hauled back on the controls, and the Blade Liger skidded to a halt before it crashed into the gates. Thomas came charging up behind them, just as the rogue Redler appeared over the walls and flew straight past them. 

"Do you see that?" Van yelled at the communicator in shock, though Fiona couldn't see anything wrong.

"There's no pilot!" came Thomas' response. In the next moment the winged Zoid had smashed straight into the second command center, creating a huge explosion. Through all the fire and smoke Fiona thought she spotted. . . _Shadow!_

"That Redler was sent as a decoy!" Thomas yelled in frustration. The two Zoids turned tail and ran back past the advancing soldiers. Passing through the heavy black smoke, Fiona found that they were in the Zoid storage and preparation area. 

And standing in front of the open cockpit of a Darkhorn. . .

~*~

The soldiers were nowhere to be found. It seemed that, judging by the explosion heard earlier, Shadow had done something to occupy them. Entering the base had been no problem: Raven had known exactly where the weakness of this particular base was. It just appeared in his mind as the right way to get inside. 

Perched on the edge of the Darkhorn's cockpit, he was about to get inside when there was the sound of a large object coming at him. Turning, he saw what it was.

Two Zoids were approaching from the other side of the square, the slower Di Bison in the rear. But he hardly noticed that. For the first time in months he was focused entirely on one thing.

The large blue Blade Liger was charging forwards, closing the gap between them at incredible speeds. He couldn't stop staring at it. It paralyzed him. And then the one memory he had came.

Through the crackling energy and shattered cockpit, the Blade Liger shot forward. The charged particle gun was firing at full power, but it might as well have been firing water. Shield up, he saw the left blade of the Zoid heading straight towards him. . .

Next he knew, he was piloting the Darkhorn in a kamikaze run towards the Di Bison. All guns firing, his instincts noted the battling style of the pilot immediately. _Tendency to rely on firepower indicates inferior piloting. Best attacked at close range. _Pulling the left control to swerve, he watched emotionless as the pilot tried to compensate his aim. With the opening, Raven headed straight in and fired both mounted guns directly at the chest of the Zoid. The Di Bison groaned and started toppling over.

Movement. His eyes flickered to the screen once more. The Blade Liger was coming at him. He expected to attack, but he did not. Instead, his hands executed a jump, right over the top of the blue Zoid. And he was heading out towards the exit. He didn't comprehend his actions; that was usual. But somehow he felt it wrong. He felt that he needed to understand this. 

Yet, he could not.

The way was blocked with more Zoids. Deftly handling the controls, they fell before him easily. He maneuvered around once more. 

The Di Bison and Blade Liger were facing him down. Something shifted in the fog: they would not let him escape. The instincts agreed. He had to destroy them. Easing back on the controls Raven moved forward at a slower pace, firing both machine guns at his two opponents. They leapt aside, each in different directions. He could no longer monitor them both at once. Unconsciously his eyes locked onto the Blade Liger. It filled his vision. It began to fire. He countered with short bursts of energy, repelling the shots, when a barrage of fire hit the Darkhorn from the left side. The other was firing also. His grip on the controls tightened. He felt the blood come again from his right hand, but his attention was still fully on the Blade Liger. With a twisting shriek of metal one of the guns fell from the Darkhorn, knocked away by the enemy fire.

The Liger's blades extended.

He felt himself become rigid.

The blade slashed through the side of the Darkhorn, and it fell to its side with the tearing, snapping sound of gears and wires being broken. Static electricity sizzled through the Zoid, rendering it immobile. He pulled on the controls. Nothing. He pulled again. Nothing. He'd gone blank. This wasn't a situation he knew, but his instincts were not coming to the rescue. Not this time. Unawares, his right hand moved the control stick to the side and detached the last machine gun. The Darkhorn fetched it up in its jaws and began firing it. The shots were erratic and hardly any were connecting with the other two machines. The ammunition ran out. The gun was firing empty rounds.

There was nothing he could do. His instincts had failed, and he couldn't think for himself. He saw his left hand, flickering and blurred in the firelight, hit the hatch button. Familiar waves of heat burst through the cockpit. The seatbelts unbuckled and he was left to drop to the ground. 

Raven stared at the ground without seeing it. The fog in his head was thickening and choking him. There was a hissing sound. He looked up.

The Blade Liger stood metres away. The cockpit was open, and there was someone inside. Raven stared at him. Black hair. Dark eyes. Red rectangular marking on the left jawbone. Intense expression. 

He knew this person.

Van Flyheight.

Something was boiling inside his mind. It was growing in force, beneath the fog, and shooting upwards. It would break through in a moment. Confused, Raven reached for it. But before he could determine what it was, it shattered. Just withered, and left him alone with the fog. 

He'd almost come out of his lost self. But he'd failed to break through. 

He stopped seeing again.

~*~

Van looked down at Raven. He looked the same, yet was obviously different. In four years he'd grown out of his childlike self and was on the brink of being mature. His hair was longer than it used to be, and ragged around the edges as though a child had cut it for him. His clothes were weather-beaten and washed out. The slash and circle marking on his face was as livid as a bleeding wound. 

But it was the eyes that stole the breath from him. He remembered the eyes so well. Hardened, stormy eyes filled with hatred whenever they looked at him. Eyes that had witnessed the destruction of so many people and Zoids it was horrible to contemplate. And the eyes he hadn't seen when the Blade Liger had annihilated the Geno Saurer.

But Van couldn't see any of that in the eyes of Raven anymore. What he saw, was nothing. His eyes were dead and barren, empty windows that reflected the emptiness of his soul. They weren't _alive._

They terrified him.

He didn't know how long they both were still, gazes locked on each other. But eventually he came to realize that Raven wasn't going to move. He wasn't going to get up and kill him, or run away, or yell at him that he hated him and wanted to end his miserable life. 

Van swallowed hard, and unbuckled his harness. Vaguely he was aware of Fiona asking him what he was doing, but he didn't answer her. Instead, he leapt out of the cockpit. He steeled himself, and walked up to Raven. He stopped inches in front of him, but Raven didn't respond. 

This hardened him further, and pulling the steel handcuffs from his pocket, he snatched his hands up and locked them in. 

"You're under arrest for the destruction and murder of hundreds of people and Zoids."

Raven stared down at his hands with a blank expression, as though he didn't understand. Then he looked up, straight at Van. He felt himself go numb and almost lost himself in the emptiness of those eyes again. His pupils were dilated so far that his eyes looked black, ringed with storm-cloud purple.

Van heard running feet then, which brought him mercifully back to himself. "Private," he barked at the soldier who'd approached him from the side. "Take him to the holding cells. Keep him under armed guard _at all times._ Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," the man saluted, then grabbed the chain attached to Raven's cuffs and pulled him away. He went without a fight, with his head down.

Watching him go, Van felt another person come up next to him. A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and squeezed slightly. He felt slightly better, knowing that in this whole cursed world, there was another person there and they cared.

"Thank you, Fiona."

--------------------------

Holy shebang that took a while! And I'm so happy to be out of these scripted events, because now it's all going into uncharted territory. Well, not uncharted, I do have _some _idea of what I'm doing. 

Sorry to all those Thomas fans out there, if I made him seem like a bit of a picky bastard. I don't hate him or anything, I'm just trying to view him from Van's perspective. And he won't be all narky for the whole story.

I don't know if I'll get the next chapter finished before I go on holiday, so it may be a while until it comes up. Like, February? I'll try my hardest though, pinky swear.


	3. Twisted Expectations

No, I didn't die. I just got distracted by The Two Towers. . . * latches onto Aragorn * 

OK, so now we're at the point where I'm taking the story into alternate universe territory. I have no idea how long each chapter will be; that last one was a freak of nature at 5000+ XD. And yes, the characters will most likely divert from their "normal" personalities somewhat. That's what makes it original and . . . stuff. Thanks to all my reviewers, you've been great so far. 

I'll stop being annoying now and start the actual chapter.

Zoids doesn't belong to me. If I did own a Zoid, do you reckon I'd be wasting my time writing a story when I could be off joy-riding? No, didn't think so.

--------------------------

I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

--------------------------

_Three: Twisted Expectations_

--------------------------

                "That was all _very _anti-climactic if you ask me."

                Van turned to look incredulously at Thomas. "Have you even looked at your Di Bison since three hours ago?"

                "Don't give me that," Thomas snapped, kicking out with his boot at the toolkit lying near his feet. "Of course I've seen the Di Bison. Why do you think I've been screwing around with spanners for the past hour? All the bolts on the front left leg have been blown out, and the wiring's half melted which causes electrical fluctuations that I could do without, because it requires a _lot _of reprogramming in BEEK's system and why did you change the subject like that? You sent me off on a tangent. And you _know _what I meant."

                Sighing, Van picked up a wrench from the kit and began twisting a stubborn screw in the Di Bison's leg. He was hoping that Thomas would get the hint and leave him be, but obviously he wasn't to be deterred. Let him fume over there for a bit, he thought. He wasn't some encyclopaedia to be consulted whenever then put back on the shelf. 

"Van, I'm not trying to irritate you. I can tell you've been a bit unhinged by it all."

"And just what do you mean by that?"

"You're using the wrong end of the wrench." He was right. Van scowled and turned the stupid thing upside down, then attacked the screw again. He heard Thomas sigh. "All I'm saying is, it was strange. I mean, after all I've heard about Raven, I didn't expect him to go down without a fight. He sounded like the sort of guy who'd still be trying to kill you if the only weapon on hand was a piece of wood."

Van couldn't help imagining Raven threatening the Republican forces with a tree branch in his hand. Sadly enough it made him grin. Thomas always managed to come up with something that could break the tension. If he felt like it, that is. Leaning back against the cold metal, Van decided to talk about it. Maybe he could get a little peace then.

"I don't know, Thomas. Don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth. I've fought him heaps of times, and all of those he was willing to fight until the very end." He felt his skin go cold, just thinking about it. "I. . . honestly, I don't know. It confuses me."

True to form, once Thomas was part of the conversation he relaxed his starched and sarcastic manner. "Maybe he wanted to be captured? Part of some diabolical scheme to . . . um . . . well, it's diabolical, it doesn't need to go anywhere beyond that."

"Sometimes I wonder," Van said with a mock sigh, "how you managed to get promoted to Lieutenant." Thomas looked scandalized.

"Now that was uncalled for."

"Oh yes it was."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not times ten."

"Was too infinity."

"Damn." Van smirked at Thomas, who stuck his tongue out in return, before stomping off to run a diagnostic check on BEEK. Pushing himself away from the Di Bison, he decided he should check the Liger himself. 

Crossing the tarmac, Van was struck anew by how equally beautiful and powerful the Blade Liger was. The streamlined head and body were designed for high-speed piloting, yet concealed the weaponry that could – and had – destroyed many Zoids. Its yellow blades seemed to glow in the twin moonlight, tucked away next to the boosters. 

But when he reached the Liger, he didn't feel like checking its systems or components. Instead, he sat down on the claws of its front right leg, and looked at the moons. It was a few weeks yet till they would be full; tonight they were curved sickles, the smaller almost within the larger. 

Suddenly he felt very cold and alone. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, hugging himself. He shouldn't have left Thomas. He didn't like being alone. Because it left him with only himself, and his thoughts. And those thoughts were not wanted, especially not now. Van knew the barriers he'd set up against remembering were cracking again. It was worse when he couldn't be distracted by daily life. It was then that the ignored and repressed dark feelings would try to creep into his soul, eroding his happiness. It very rarely happened anymore; he was always with Fiona and Zeke. And even when he wasn't, he made sure that he was busy doing something. Nights were the worst.

"Van?" came a soft voice from above his head. Startled, he looked up at Fiona's shadowy form, accented around the edges with moonlight. She looked concerned.

Van stood up quickly and stretched his arms. "It's a bit cold tonight, huh?" 

_How long did I sit there? How long was she standing with me and I didn't notice?_

He couldn't quite see Fiona's face in the dark, but he heard her response. "Just a bit. I've been inside, I didn't notice. Speaking of which, that's why I came to find you. Captain Hayes wanted me to get you: they want to discuss how to deal with Raven, and they thought you should be a part of it, seeing as. . ." She trailed off, not needing to say anything more. He was silent a moment, thinking it over.

"Yeah, of course I'll come, if I'm needed," Van smiled to reassure her, though he wasn't certain she could see it in the dark. "I've had the most experience with . . . him after all."

Fiona moved then, and the dim starlight struck red in her eyes. "Yes. You have."

~*~

High above the base, perched on a cliff, the pair was watched by no less than four sets of eyes. They had been there for a long time, watching the battle, and the attempt to clean up the aftermath. And they were still there, watching, when Van Flyheight and Fiona Alisi Linette headed into one of the buildings nearby. The woman, a cold person with ice-blue hair and eyes that could stop anyone dead in their tracks, turned to her flame-haired companion.

"This was unexpected. I thought that Raven was sure to reawaken when he saw Flyheight. This changes things."

Hiltz didn't move, however. His gaze remained fixed on the pitiful army living quarters that was called a "base". Behind him, two spiked creatures shifted with their yellow and green eyes flaring. He smirked then, and turned to Reese.

"It doesn't change our goal. It only changes the way things need to be done."

~*~

"As you can see, the damage done here tonight will take a long time to repair. This base is going to be out of operation for at least a week, as far as military activities go. Zoids will still be functioning of course, but our communications and strategy rooms were destroyed in the attack. Any planning and organizing will have to be done in alternate buildings."

The man talking, Private Saunders, seated himself at the table again. Captain Hayes seemed to be digesting the information, whilst the other officers and soldiers looked morose. Van, sitting at the far end of the table, was only getting a headache. When was the last time he slept longer than five hours in one go? Trying to remember only made the headache worse. He noticed another person move to speak out of the corner of his eye. _When would this meeting end?_

"We can sort all of that business out no troubles. We have procedures for things like this," said Tactical Specialist Maiyer. "The real problem is what to do with Raven." Everyone nodded or made agreeing noises around the table. 

"He can't stay here forever, that's one definite," Captain Hayes put in, rubbing his chin. 

"That's true. After all, he's _supposed _to be part of the Imperial Army. He's their duty, not ours. The Republic shouldn't be put in charge of his miserable fate." More agreement. Van shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Military chairs were always so hard and straight; it was virtually impossible to get a good position in them. And he always had to sit in them when there was something bad being spoken about. 

"Before we do anything, I suggest that we interrogate Raven, sir." Maiyer suggested. "The less time we give him to create false stories the better."

"Lieutenant Flyheight," Van was startled out of his reverie by Captain Hayes. "You've had experience with this man before. Would you be willing to bring him out of his cell to the interrogation block?" 

"Of course sir," he said before having a chance to think about it, much less doubt it.

"Very well. If you would do that immediately, please."

"Right away sir." And with that, the meeting was over. Everyone began to push back their chairs, gather their papers and leave the briefing room. Everyone was relieved to be free at last, and be able to go to bed after such a harrowing night.

Everyone except Van.

Still sitting in his rigid chair, he pressed his fingers against his temples and groaned a bit. He would have done anything to just get up like the rest of these men and be able to sleep a while, but he couldn't. And it was because of his reputation, yet again. Van Flyheight, the only person who'd ever defeated Raven, so he _must _be able to handle him. "Yeah," he murmured to himself, pushing his chair back. "Of course Van Flyheight can handle it."

He was alone in the room. Van frowned. He always seemed to lose big spaces of time when he was thinking, although it never seemed that long to him. Supposing he should hurry, he exited the room swiftly. The questioner was probably waiting for him and his charge already. 

Van decided to distract himself by reading every sign he came across. Unfortunately once he left the building and had to cross the launching platform there was little to read. Even if there had been signs, it was too dark to make them out. It was very late: probably past midnight by now. 

Reaching the holding block, Van took out his keys and unlocked the door. He knew from experience how Republican holding cells were laid out. The common thieves and inexperienced criminals were kept on ground level. More dangerous prisoners were kept in the level below, in underground cells. Underground was certainly where Raven would be. Crossing to the door at the far end of the first level, he opened it and went down the stairs.

The door to the underground cells was made of sturdier stuff than the upper doors. Three inches of steel, to be exact, with three separate bolts and locks. Van had a hard time imagining anyone getting out of this door, unless they were packing serious firepower. He swung his keys into all three locks, and then pushed the door open. It went reluctantly, squeaking at the hinges as though it could use a good oiling. 

It was dim in the cells, with only two bulb lights hanging from the ceiling. Van supposed he couldn't expect a prison to be cheerful. He would have preferred a bit more light though. The darkness was making him feel caged. He spotted a guard standing against the last cell, holding his gun and generally looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. Van could relate with him. The man stood at attention and saluted when he noticed Van enter the room.

"Lieutenant Flyheight."

"Private," Van said, saluting himself. He always felt slightly silly at these formalities. "I can take this from here. Go ahead and inform Captain Hayes that I'll be there shortly, then you can go off-duty for the night." The soldier visibly relaxed, and saluted again.

"Thank you sir." He turned and left out the door then, leaving Van alone.

But he wasn't alone.

Van still hadn't looked through the bars yet. He was expecting to be met with a look of open hostility and madness, regardless of what he'd looked like before. Old impressions die hard. 

_You're being stupid. Just turn around and do it._ He sighed, and turned to face the bars of the cell.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust enough to see, but finally he could make out in the inside of the cell. Besides the floor-to-ceiling bars that made up one wall, the rest of the room was cold grey stone. There were no windows of course, being underground. The only thing in the cell was a wooden bed attached to the wall with bolts and chains. Raven himself was on the bed, facing the wall so that all Van could see was his back. And, he appeared to be asleep.

Van was incredulous. How could he be asleep? No, he was just ignoring him and being difficult, that was it. Getting frustrated, Van brought out his coldest, toneless voice to deal with him. 

"You're to be questioned. Get up."

Raven didn't move. Van scowled.

"I _know _you're not asleep. As if you would be, considering all you did tonight. Get up _now._"

He still didn't respond. Van was getting angrier by the minute. If that fool kept on being insolent, he had half a mind to get a gun and shoot him in the foot just to get a scream out of him. As soon as he thought that he was disgusted with himself, but he pushed both thoughts away. 

"If you don't get up right now, I'm coming in there and _dragging _you out." Van had no idea why he said that. He had no intention of touching Raven, much less hauling him across the floor! But still, he might have to, considering that for the third time he didn't make a move to get up. Van hovered at the bars of the cell, unwilling to go in there. For once in his miserable life Raven should be compliant. He was beginning to wish that Raven would even insult him, throw a punch, give him the evil eye. Because a sneaking nasty thought was trying to get into Van's mind. That same thought that almost destroyed him years ago. Hastily he whipped out the cell keys and pressed them into the keyhole.

Rolling the door aside with a squeak, Van stepped into the stone prison. The feeble light from the globe cast striped shadows across the floor and wall.  It was barely three steps to where he lay. Too close for comfort. Too far for reassurance. Van hesitated again, just inside of the cell door.

"Raven?" he asked quietly, and even Van was aware of the threads of uncertainty and nervousness in his voice. If Raven was truly awake, he would have delighted in having this effect on Van. So then. . .

Feeling strangely surreal, Van resurrected his courage and approached the bed. Standing above Raven, watching him lie utterly still, was almost too much for him. When was Raven ever still? He was always destroying, hurting, taunting.

"Come on, get up," Van said, still clinging to the false hope that something would happen at his words. In a sudden movement his hand came up and grabbed Raven's shoulder. Van was shocked at how sharp the bone felt underneath the fabric and skin. He shook him a little. "Come on. . ." Van was shaking him harder now, trying to banish the spiraling sensation in his stomach. Finally he pulled too hard and Raven was flipped onto his back. Startled, Van drew back a little.

Raven looked terrible. In the dark of night and lit by dancing flames, it had been easy to miss how much weight he had lost. He had always been a lean person, but now he looked thin. His cheekbones were more prominent than they had been, and his face was beginning to look pinched. Dark grey hair was plastered across his pale forehead, making him seem colourless as the hour before dawn. The slash and circle marking on his left cheek looked akin to a gash. He was breathing: that much was certain. But it was shallow and weak; Raven's chest hardly rising when he inhaled.

Compelled by some unknown instinct, Van pressed his index and middle fingers against Raven's neck. It was cold. Van found a heartbeat, and waited for the next. Too many seconds passed before it came again. 

Van withdrew his hand. Without giving it a moment's thought he shot out of the cell back towards the main door, where he knew there was an internal base phoneline.

"I need a medical team down in the high security cells _now!_" Van directed at the receiver, dimly bewildered at how controlled his voice was, though it was definitely higher than normal. There was some static, then someone telling him a team was on its way, and then silence. Van hung up the phone receiver, and rested his head against the hard wall.

Reality was fracturing around him, and there was nothing he could do. There was never anything he could do.

"Fool. . ." he whispered.

~*~

"Dehydration. Malnutrition. Several fractures not completely healed, some caused by stress from excessive piloting. Damaged vision."

"Damaged vision?" Fiona asked, turning to the doctor. He in turn looked to his clipboard.

"Yes From what we can tell, it was caused by exposure to extreme light sources. Explosions and the sun I'm guessing. Those sort of things are bound to damage your eyes. In addition to that, there are quite a few old burns that look like they've never seen medical attention. I suppose that's to be expected though. Most of them are along his legs and back. Oh, and there's the injured right palm. Moderate level of tissue damage there." He snapped the clipboard shut and gave them a half grin. "He's been beaten around the bush, this one."

Fiona managed to smile wanly as the doctor left down the corridor to check on other patients. Sighing inwardly, she turned to Van. He'd been standing with his arms crossed the entire time the doctor was there, staring fixedly through he viewing window of the hospital room door. She knew he'd been listening, though he hadn't shown it. Van hadn't said a word since he'd come up a few minutes behind the medical team, and didn't look like he was going to start now. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his disheveled hair was beginning to escape from his ponytail. 

"Van – " she started, pulling at the edge of her sleeve.

"I'm going to bed," Van said flatly. Dropping his arms back down to his side, he strode away down the hall without even looking at her. She watched his retreating back until it disappeared around the corner. Unbidden she remembered what the doctor had first said when he'd come out of the room.

"He was lucky. An hour or so more and we wouldn't have been able to help him. His body had begun to shut down. Thanks to Lieutenant Flyheight's quick thinking, he may pull through."

But he might not, Fiona thought. She stepped up to the viewing window and peered inside. All she could see of Raven was a shock of dark hair against the pillow, and the shape of his body underneath the blanket. Turned away from her, she could not see where the IV fed into his left arm. He didn't look strong enough to last from this angle. 

It was the one scenario she'd never expected. Over the years his image had changed from that of a murderous child to that of a dead nightmare in her mind. Never a shell of a person on the verge of death once more. And she still was not sure whether she wanted him dead or alive.

"For Van's sake, I hope that. . ." But Fiona stopped. Because she didn't know which would hurt him more. 

~*~

Raven stood upon a dark road. The ground was like black sand, glittering along his path. Around him a mist drifted. It was silent here, with a tingling quality unlike any earthly feeling. He twisted to look back along the pathway, presumably where he'd come from. But he couldn't see anything for the wispy fog clouding that direction. The black road extended on into it until it was swallowed up. He knew he'd come to be here from beyond those mists, yet it seemed like there was nothing for him there. He felt no desire of need to go that way. Turning back Raven gazed at the path ahead. This way the fog did not seem to cross the road; it halted at the edges of it. Raven could clearly see the sparkling floor. Following it with his eyes, he thought he could see an abrupt end to the road ahead of him. It beckoned to him, calling with what could almost be music. He wanted to go this way. 

_Walking towards the end of the path brought no noise from his shoes. All he could hear was the urge to meet with the end of the road. The silvery mists closed behind him where he walked. And then he was there._

_The black road indeed ended here. It looked as though someone had cut into it like a knife, severing it cleanly at his feet. The ground dropped away into a sheer cliff with no bottom. There was only blackness deeper than any night below him._

_Raven heard the call whisper to take the last step. It promised or pretended nothing: only told him to go. He looked back behind himself again. The fog was absolute. He could see nothing. And so he turned back, and lifted his foot._

_There was a sudden pressure on his right arm, and he was pulled backwards. Looking up he saw a dark spiny creature peering urgently at him. He knew this creature. Shadow. . ._

_He'd said nothing, but Shadow seemed to hear. He swung his head back along the path, then back towards Raven. His blue eyes burned with fire and need. Shadow opened his jaws and bit down into his arm again, tightly. It should have hurt, but it did not. Shadow tugged twice at him._

_You want this of me? Raven thought. To return? Shadow growled and pulled again, as though to say yes. I cannot pass through the fog. . ._

_Shadow hauled on his arm then, causing Raven to stumble along with him. The organoid plunged into the mist, dragging him along in his grip. With the fog pressing against him from all directions, Raven felt afraid. He couldn't do this, he couldn't. Everything started to fade to blackness. In terror he flung his other arm out and snatched at Shadow's neck. But the organoid was beginning to fade as well. He was lost now. He couldn't find his way. Something whispered into his mind as the dark came._

Alone, Bittersong cannot. But you are not alone. . .

Not alone? _Raven wondered, and then blackness shut in entirely. _

~*~

There was a sound nearby. Only from this could Raven tell he was awake. His eyes were still closed. The sound was constant and the same each time. Something about it seemed to relate to a thing he knew. Yet his thoughts were still suffocated by the fog, and he couldn't recall. He felt utterly exhausted, through and through. Somehow things felt strange. Where was he?

Slowly he managed to open his eyes. He couldn't see properly at first. Raven blinked and managed to nearly clear his vision. He was looking at a grey paneled ceiling, a single inactive light in the center with fuzzy edges. He was in a building. This made no sense. He never woke up inside any houses or man-made shelters. The noise was continuing, and it was coming from his left side. Raven needed to know what it was. Dredging some strength out of his wrecked body he shifted his head so that he could see what was on his left side. He could see a boxy machine at eye level with a green line traveling across its screen. As he watched, the line spiked upwards then down before going straight again. At the same time the noise came again.

_A heart rate machine. _So he must be in a hospital of some kind. There was a stand next to the heart monitor, a thin metal pole extending upwards. At the top, a clear plastic bag was hooked, that seemed to be full of liquid. A small pipe came out of the bottom of it. Following it down, he saw then that it disappeared into his left arm. He stared at where it was taped down to the skin. Why was it there? It wasn't normal. He didn't want it there.

Raven slowly pulled his right arm out from under the sheets that covered him. His hand felt strange. Bringing it up to his face he saw that it was bandaged. He then brought it round and let his fingers grip around the thin pipe extending out of his arm. Trying to pull it out was harder than he had anticipated; his hand was shaking and he couldn't hold onto it properly. His arm was starting to hurt where the pipe was sliding out bit by bit. There was a sudden noise like a door opening, footsteps, and then a woman in a starched white uniform appeared in front of him. 

"I'm sorry, but you shouldn't do that," she said, removing his hand from the artificial vein. He stared at her, confused. Noticing, she turned away and checked the bag at the end of the tube. "You need the IV drip to get well again. You're badly dehydrated." He couldn't understand half of what she meant, but he thought that she must know better than him at least. She went around to the end of his bed and picked up a chart, scribbling something onto it. As she headed to the door, she halted and looked back at him. "You should . . . get some rest." And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

He couldn't get his mind to function, couldn't get the answers from beneath the fog like he used to. _What do I do now?_ But he got no answer. Raven felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was horribly tired. His eyes shut of their own accord and the dark swallowed him once more.

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Notes: 

I am no doctor, and I don't know much about medical things besides sticking a bandaid on something if it bleeds. So all the details about the effects on Raven from his dehydration and lack of food are completely made up. I was going on the assumption that when your body begins to shut down, your heart would go slower and therefore you would get cold. So uh, even if someone tells me what *really* happens, I won't change it, because I needed it that way for this chapter.

All the military ranks are correct, I looked them up. Captains are indeed higher than Lieutenants so no one bite my head off. Also, interesting fact for you. There are two ranks of Lieutenant: First and Second. I'm guessing that Thomas is a First Lieutenant and Van is a Second Lieutenant, just going by that episode where Thomas was all "You're disobeying my orders blah blah" and seeming to make a point of being higher in rank than he was. 

I'd just like to say that writing for Raven is extremely difficult, given his lack of memories and personality of any sort at this point in time. So if anything is weird in those parts, I apologize.

The large italics section was intended to represent a dream. I hope you realized that.

Do you know how frustrating it is to describe a prison cell?

Once again, if I've gotten names wrong please tell me. 

One more thing. I'm going on holidays tomorrow and I won't be back until January 27th. So don't expect any new chapters until February. I may work on it while I'm away but it's doubtful. In the meantime, go frolic in the sunshine or something. Vappa out.

*Update 31/01/03* Oh my goodness, I spotted some mistakes! So I fixed. Chapter 4 is coming along nicely, should be up soon. At least by the end of February XD.


	4. Linear Relations

Baaaaam-badum-dum! Yes, it's another chapter. Sorry to have kept you waiting, it took a hellish long time to write this one, and I really appreciate it if you actually were waiting. Makes me feel all warm and authory inside.

Originally when I started this story, it was about one thing and one thing only. And that was Raven. But now that I've planned it out more, and expanded the events that happen, the focus has altered a bit. Instead of one main character and all supporting characters, it's now two main characters, five sub-main characters and a whole host of others who don't matter as much. Now Raven-lovers don't fret: he's still the absolute point of the story, even though he's pretty useless right now. But I'm quite liking what I came up with for the other main and the sub-mains, so I'll continue on this path, OK? OK.

Oh, and what I said about there being no romance: I lied. But I'm not letting on who, what and when details. Hee, you'll have to suffer.

No own Zoids.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

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_Four: Linear Relations_

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He was trapped. Between the Gojulas units and Reese's monster of a Zoid, Van couldn't escape with the Blade Liger in one piece. The twin moons illuminated the fierce edges of his opponents. Further back, atop a church's steeple, was the focus of his attention. And his main problem.

The bell of the tower clanged, sending its psychological prompts ringing into the air. If it was destroyed he wouldn't have to worry about the Gojulas anymore. There would only be Reese to contend with. But Fiona was there. She was there, bound to a stake, bare metres away from his target. If his aim was off, even by a little, Fiona would die.

Van was aware of Reese in his head, taunting and tantalizing. _Just destroy the whole church Van. . . two birds with one stone. _His grip on the control lever was shaky with doubt.

"Get out of my head!" he shouted, swinging the Liger around towards the stone building. It was now or never. The aiming crosshairs on the display converged on the bell. With a shrill beep they locked on, and it took less than a second for Van to fire. The Liger was rocked back on its haunches as the missiles lauched forwards. In a matter of seconds they would reach their target. A split second before they impacted, time seemed to freeze. His eyes widened with fright.

_They were going to hit her!_

A colossal explosion rent the air apart. Burning light fanned outwards in fire and debris, showering down around the Blade Liger like a storm. Many of the Gojulas fell to the ground with gaping holes in their sides torn by flying stones. Dust billowed outwards, obscuring everything from view. Van was aware of his breathing like never before, waiting for the dust to clear. He leant forward, willing it to have gone right.

The dust cleared.

The church was gone.

"No. . ." Van whispered. His eyes started to sting with tears and he didn't care. Fiona was dead because of him. Dead. He curled up shivering and sobbing in the cockpit, unable to look anymore. Reese's mocking laugh was an echoing whisper in his mind, consummating his grief.

"Murderer. . ."

xXx

Van's eyes snapped open in the dark. Slowly he became aware of where he was, and what he was doing there. There was scant difference between the ebony blackness of the room and the almost totally dark sky through the window but for a scattering of tiny stars. He relaxed, letting the built up tension from the nightmare leave him. The sheets were twisted around him bizarrely, which obviously meant he'd been thrashing about in his sleep. Again.

Gazing at a ceiling he could not see, Van wondered. How much of the dream had really been nightmare? Most dreams – his at least – were based in truth and then shaped and shifted into something more fantastic. Most of this nightmare had been true; the church, attacking Zoids and Reese's power were certainly fact. Destroying the church and Fiona had been the real nightmare. The rest was just memory. He listened to himself breath. Or was the nightmare really false, or just another memory? A possibility that had not come to pass? Remembrance of a memory he'd never experienced, planted by another person. Reese, of course. Yet he sometimes doubted. Perhaps Reese was not the sole reason for these murderous thoughts. After all, she dealt with games of the mind. Maybe she had only used what she had found inside him, inside his darker core hidden by years of training, working, and forgetting.

_My darker core, _he thought wearily, shifting on to his side in the dark. _And only through nighttime and nightmare does it haunt me. . ._

Or so he had believed.

Van sighed. He would not sleep again, he knew that through experience. Twisting his head, he cast his gaze about for the clock somewhere to his right. Suddenly he could see the digital red glow of the timer. 3:51am.

He groaned, pressing his palms into his face. He was going to be awake and restless for hours yet. And it was far too early to get up and go wandering. He was sure to wake people up, seeing as this room was at the end of the dormitory corridor.

Inevitably his thoughts drifted back to more sullen ones. Van knew he was being a tad foolish, focusing on Reese so much and his assumption that he was her target alone. Fiona had told him about what Reese had implanted in her thoughts. And then there was Karl Shubaltz. It had been pretty bad to discover that a general in the Imperial Army – and his friend for that matter – was being forced against them, even though Karl had had no control over what he was doing. But how much worse had it been for Thomas? He remembered hearing the battle through his comm system. There had come a moment where Karl, devoid of any emotion, had said, "I don't know who you are." Thomas had said nothing, only the sounds of battle a few moments later broke the silence. Later, when Reese had been defeated, he'd seen Karl apologizing to Thomas, who had only mumbled, "It's all right, Karl. . ." without looking at him.

Van realized then how relatively somber Thomas had been afterwards. He'd hid it well, on the few occasions he'd seen him, but looking back on it now there had been little discrepancies in his behaviour. The most obvious had been the first time he'd seen Thomas after the battle. Van had looked out for him and spotting him went over. Thomas hadn't been facing him when he'd stopped and asked if he was alright. When he'd turned around to look at Van, he'd seen how shattered he was. Quick as a flash the expression was gone, the old Thomas back in place. "I'm fine," he'd said. "Just another day in the Guardian Force, huh?" He recalled the details he hadn't noticed at the time; how Thomas's shoulders had slumped a little, and his nervous tugging at his gloves. Van had only seen him fret with his gloves when he was extremely edgy and anxious. He supposed everyone had a nervous habit like that.

Van was just considering what _his _nervous habit might be when Thomas slammed open the door as though summoned by his thoughts. Van jumped and accidentally slid off the bed with a painful bang onto his back.

"Hey Van, you awake?" Thomas said rather loudly, squinting into the dark room. Then he noticed Van. "What are you doing on the floor?" Van scowled at him.

"Oh, it's this _great _new chiropractic exercise. You should try it sometime. I'll even help by pushing you off _your_ bed in the middle of the night."

"Fell off the wrong side of the bed I see," Thomas replied blandly, waiting as Van picked himself up off the floor. "Well, at least you're awake. I have something to tell you."

"Better be important," Van grumbled, though really he was quite glad of Thomas's presence. He couldn't care less if his news was about BEAC, as long as it kept his mind on other things for once. Thomas gave him one of those looks that said of-course-it's-important-because-I'm-telling-you-it.

"Come out here, I'm not discussing it from the doorway. I can hardly see you." Not inclined to argue, Van came around the bed and out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Instead of asking again, he merely crossed his arms and gave Thomas a look. Thomas tilted his head back.

"Why do you do that? I didn't do anything wrong." Seeing that Van wasn't going to rise to the bait, he sighed. "Alright, I'll stop and get on with it. About ten minutes ago I received a transmission from Karl. He said that he's been getting information hinting that Hiltz has gotten an army of sorts together, and is planning to attack military bases, both Republican and Imperial. There's a base about a thousand kilometers from here, an Imperial one called Redstone, which he thinks is going to be a target."

Van was startled. "But Redstone is ages away from here. What does he expect us to do about that?"

"That's what I thought, but Karl said Hiltz isn't attacking _tomorrow. _Apparently the rumours say that he'll attack in six days. It would take us about five days to get there, so he wants us to go and help out in preparing a defense. It's a Guardian Force mission, which is why I came to tell you."

Van thought about this. They'd have to leave pretty soon, as in right now, if they wanted to get to Redstone in time to beat Hiltz. It would be a hard run, but they'd make it. But what about. . .

"Fiona," he muttered, rubbing his chin. He turned to look at Thomas. "I don't really think. . . she should probably stay here."

"What? Why?" Thomas blurted out, then flushed, but Van didn't really notice.

"Well it's. . . it's 3 in the morning, and we had a hard night, and she looked tired and. . . I don't want to wake her up," he finished lamely. He was looking at the ground to avoid looking at Thomas, who was staying quiet, and possibly thinking.

_He's going to come up with reasons why we should bring Fiona, _he thought sadly. _Even I can think of plenty. So why don't I want her to come? _Before he could consider this Thomas spoke again.

"If that's what you think is better, do it," he said quietly, drawing Van's attention back to the man. "You would know better than me." He regarded the younger Shubaltz brother silently. _Do I really know better than you? _Remembering his musings, he also wondered. _And are you really 'all right'?_

"Alright then. I just have to get my things," Van said, slipping back into his room. As he was pulling on his boots he thought of something. Snapping on the light he scrounged about for a piece of paper, and finding one scrawled hurriedly on it. He got up, note in hand, and went outside again. Thomas wasn't around, so he assumed he'd headed off to the Di Bison, seeing as he'd already been dressed when he'd come to get him. Walking swiftly down the corridor, he counted off the doors until he found the right one. He stopped in front of it and took a breath.

The door handle opened silently under his grip, and he slid the door open a crack. Van could see her inside, asleep on the single bed. He quickly entered and shut the door, making the room dark once more. He made his way over to the bedside table, and lay the note down on top. Straightening up, he made to leave, but stopped suddenly. He turned to look at Fiona, safe in her bed. He leaned down closer, and softly touched her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered silently.

And then he was gone.

xXx

Fiona scrubbed the sleep from her eyes as she headed down the corridor. Warm, champagne-hued light filtered through the windows that lined one side, a pleasant reminder that it was a dawning day on Zi. Yet she didn't feel as happy as she usually did about daybreak. Coming to a junction, she turned left and away from the natural light to the artificial kind that hospital wings called the norm. She pulled a crumpled note from her pocket, and read it again, though she knew it by heart already.

_Fiona,_

_Thomas and I received orders to head out to the Redstone Imperial base this morning, in light of some rumours that Hiltz is planning to attack there. I'm sorry I didn't ask you to come, but you were asleep. I've left Zeke with you for company. If you want to, you can borrow a Zoid from this base and catch up with us later. I've already cleared it with Captain Hayes. It's a five day journey. I really am sorry._

_Van._

Folding it but not putting it away, Fiona contemplated the letter as she walked. She was upset of course that Van had left her behind, as Zeke had been when she'd found him outside this morning. The organoid had practically howled when he saw her, and in the midst of all his bouncing and nudging she'd been able to gather that Van had argued very hard to keep him there. She had reassured Zeke, stroking him on his head until he calmed down, and told him they'd find Van soon. She knew Van didn't do things without a reason.

But what _was _the reason? Fiona scanned the note again. Van meant more here than what he had written. One sentence that jumped out at her was the one regarding Zeke. It was obvious to her that when he said 'for company' he had clearly been thinking 'for protection'. Usually he wouldn't have even considered that, he knew she was capable enough on her own, and usually it would have puzzled her. But not today.

_It's because of Raven, isn't it, Van? _she thought, coming to another corner. _His presence is eating at you, making you nervous, making you worried. . ._

It was also obvious that by saying she could follow him, he'd been rational enough to know that was exactly what she would want to do. And he would want it too.

Passing a sign that said 'D Ward', she realized she'd gone past the room. Cursing her flighty thoughts, Fiona backtracked to the C Ward. She paused outside a door labeled 'Room C19' and peered in the viewing window.

There didn't seem to be much change in Raven's condition, seeing as he was still asleep. Admittedly it had only been around five hours since he was brought in. The only difference was that he was lying on his right side now, and she would have been able to see his eyes if they weren't half-obscured with rough locks of charcoal hair. She still found it hard to imagine that this starved, beaten person could have destroyed so much. He just did not seem to have that malevolent presence about him anymore.

That did not mean, however, that she could trust him. The day she and Van had met Raven, Fiona had picked up nothing from him but a desire for them to leave him alone. But Van had been so persistent in trying to be friends with him that they had learned what Raven truly was. A hardened tool of Prozen, bent on destruction. And despite his efforts, Van was singled out as Raven's foe, and there had been no question of reconciliation between the two.

Fiona was brought back from memory lane by a cheerful voice. "Good morning Miss Fiona!" called the doctor from last night, coming up next to her and smiling. She returned the grin in turn: the man was infectious.

"Hello doctor Sharlen. How are you?"

"Oh I'm great. I just had a three hour nap, and I'm all set to start my rounds. And my first patient is right in that door."

They both tilted their heads to look through the window. "Doctor Sharlen," Fiona said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, but call me Dale. No need to be so formal," he grinned, running a hand through his short chestnut hair. Fiona smiled again.

"Alright, Dale. You know who that is in there, right?" Dale nodded. "Well, I have to ask. Doesn't it make you. . . angry. . . to have to treat him? Knowing all the things that he's done, the people he's killed?" He was quiet for a few moments, tapping his pen against his clipboard as he considered. Then he looked at her, usual smile absent.

"I can understand why you'd think that. And I know that some of the other nurses and doctors aren't pleased about it at all. But to be honest, it doesn't bother me. I don't want you to misunderstand me though. I resent what he's done, and what he was. Yet he is a patient, and I care about _all _my patients. I couldn't call myself a doctor if I wasn't able to put aside my own differences to do my work to the best of my ability. Besides," Dale smiled a little. "I'm a firm believer in second chances. Maybe this is Raven's."

Fiona felt slightly better for hearing Dale's sentiments so honestly put, and thanked him. "Oh, no need for thanks," he said, twisting open the door. "Give me half a chance and I'll talk for ages, no matter what the subject is." Slipping into Raven's room, he shut the door behind him. Oddly refreshed, Fiona set out again. She decided to talk with Captain Hayes before deciding anything.

Then, she would go after Van.

xXx

Black faded into light, wholesome and disorientating. He felt sluggish, as though sleep had done little more than dampen his exhaustion into numbness.

Aware that he was in the same place as the last time he had woke, Raven was at a loss. In what he could remember of his life, he had never woken twice to the same surroundings. His memory only went so far, and most was a monotonous blur as day after day had been the same, and so had not warranted much thought. When there was a change he would remember a fact for a few precious moments. In those times he thought without thinking; he had no control over it. Now, and here, in this room, there was nothing. He was truly on his own, and the thought was not comforting, as there was hardly anything to him. His conscious mind was reflex acts, thoughts and feelings, with a small store of memory. Nothing more. There was the clouded part as well. Raven knew – no, _felt _– that whatever lay there was significant. He just could not contemplate how.

The sunlight creeping in from the windows illuminated shadows across the walls that he could not identify. He also felt distinctly sick. Shifting slightly, he found that the feeling remained. _There is something wrong with me, _he thought, finally seeing what he had not been able to grasp for weeks. Combined exhaustion and endless travel had eliminated most thoughts like that from his mind, and it had only been the odd times between movement and sleep that he had felt vaguely that he was missing something important. From both having more time than usual stationary and being in a hospital he had been able to come to this conclusion at last.

Before he could even give the matter any more thought, there was the creak of a door opening and someone talking. Twisting his head he could see someone back into the room, still speaking with another person he could not see. Like a thunderclap an instruction arose from his hidden mind.

_Get up!_

Raven snapped his head up and had pushed himself off the bed with his arms before the man at the door had even finished speaking. He caught the tail-end of his conversation:

". . .chance and I'll talk for ages, no matter what the subject is." _Click, _the door was shut once more. The man was smiling, and still was when he turned around. "Now, onto. . . oh."

He had caught sight of Raven, struggling to hold his half-sitting position. The man was dressed in a white jacket, and must have been a doctor who had something to do with him. He looked half-concerned and half-amused.

"Well, I see you've come around again. Nurse Bayard told me about the first time you woke."

Raven could feel his arms beginning to shake, and knew he would not be able to support himself for much longer. He was inexplicably frightened, of what he didn't know. The doctor seemed to be aware of this, as he hurried over, all traces of humour gone from his face. He passed him, and there was a springing clang sort of noise from behind him.

"There, I adjusted the bed. You can lay back now without tiring yourself out." Raven partly slid, partly collapsed backwards onto the raised mattress. He felt worse now, and it seemed to him that the sickness he had felt had shifted to become hollowness in both his body and spirit. The doctor was now checking al the machines around the bed, paying extra attention to the IV drip in his arm. Everything still had a slight fuzzy quality to it that no amount of blinking would clear.

"Now," the doctor said, finally addressing Raven directly. "I'm going to spare you all the details, but basically you're in bad shape. Most worrying was the dehydration and the fact that you haven't eaten properly in a long while." He stared at the doctor nonplussed, who fidgeted a bit. "Er, yes. Well, we've managed to restore a good deal of fluid to your system, which was our primary concern. However, you still need to eat." With the last sentence he had turned and grabbed a food tray off a trolley, and now set it down in front of Raven. "You eat some of that, and I'll be back to check on you in half an hour or so." He turned on his hell then and exited through the door, leaving Raven alone once more. He looked at the door for a while longer. What was going on?

Eventually his gaze wandered down to the tray on his lap. There was a roll, a packet of ready-made soup, and a couple of small carrots. He didn't want to look at the carrots. He pushed at the bread absently with a finger. The doctor had said he needed to eat. Perhaps he should. He could think of nothing else to do, or think of. Maybe the emptiness he felt would leave him. He picked the roll up with his left hand, still uneasy about the intravenous pipe burrowing into it, and bit off a small piece. It was soft, and practically tasteless. He forced himself to swallow, and then looked at the roll in his hand. There didn't seem to be much point in the exercise. Still, he thought as he distantly chewed another mouthful, it was occupying him; giving him some sort of purpose and orientation.

Raven managed to finish off the whole roll before he started to feel queasy. He slumped back against the bed again, staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.

He still felt hollow.

xXx

"Of course you can borrow a Zoid, Miss Fiona. We can have a Shield Liger prepared in no time."

Fiona sighed in relief. It had been five hours since her first attempt to speak with Captain Hayes, and up until this seventh attempt he had always been in conference or somewhere else. Finally, the man had summoned _her _to come to his makeshift office in the secondary rooms near the gate. It was good to know he cut right to the heart of the matter.

"However," Captain Hayes said, leaning forward in his chair a bit. "I have a favour to ask of you." Fiona felt her spirits sink. What could he possibly want? "You are quite welcome to refuse, you understand. As you know, Redstone is the nearest Imperial base to this one. Because of the damage caused last night none of my men will be able to leave for quite some time, as they are all required in the repair effort. As it stands, you're the only one who can help us out. We would like you to take the prisoner Raven to Redstone."

"Wh-what?" she stammered, taken aback. She hadn't expected _this. _Captain Hayes looked sympathetic.

"I realize what that sounds like, and believe me I wouldn't blame you if you declined. It is only that it's simply not practical to detain him here. First and foremost, he is – or was – a part of the Gailos Empire, and as such it is not our place to judge the boy or hold him on our base. It would mean a great deal to us if you could do this favour."

"But he's. . ." Fiona paused, wildly searching for a good reason to refuse. "Sick," she finished lamely. Captain Hayes gave her a look.

"We've already consulted with Raven's doctor, Sharlen. He said that although it's not in his best interests, he is fit enough to last the journey."

Fiona grimaced and rubbed her temples. A five-day trek through the desert with _Raven?_The very thought should have terrified her. Raven was not known for being pleasant to people. He was far more likely to wring her neck in the middle of the night, then take off with the Shield Liger whilst drinking a cup of tea! And yet . . . some small, annoying part of her implored that she do it. There was no rational explanation for this feeling. It was just there.

_And, _she supposed, _I _will _have Zeke with me. He couldn't possible move faster than an organoid, even if he does . . . dispose of me._

She sighed again, realizing she'd committed herself mentally by merely considering the notion. _Damned conscience, _she thought savagely.

"OK, Captain . . . I'll do it," she agreed with a nod. Looking a bit surprised, but immensely relieved, Hayes got up from his chair and extended his hand. She shook it with her own, wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

"I assume you'll want to leave immediately. I'll go prepare everything, just wait right here." And with that he left through the door.

Now she had to wait _again. _For the next twenty minutes she amused herself by exploring the office. There were a number of things on the desk: pens, papers, lamp, paper clips, a hat, some stickers which read 'CONFIDENTIAL' and 'TOP SECRET', and . . . what was that thing? She peered closer. For all the world it appeared to be an amber-hued glass ball, flattened on the bottom to kept it from rolling around. The sphere was dotted throughout with tiny bubbles, like sparkles. And right in the center there was a small leaf. She gazed at it. This must be fossilized tree-sap; Doctor D had once told her about the substance. Whatever was trapped within it was frozen for thousands of years. To think, she could have once passed by the tree this leaf had come from, many years before. Somehow, looked at the relic saddened her.

Everything changes. Nothing can stay the same forever.

She almost yelped in surprise when the shrill ringing of a telephone echoed around the room. Glancing around, she spotted the bright blue phone attached to the doorframe and made her way over to it. After she had picked up the receiver, a terse voice on the other end told her to come to the launching runway. She hung up the phone again.

Fiona was determined, as she strode briskly down the hallway, not to think of this journey she was going on. At that moment she was singing quite loudly in her head.

"Wait, Miss Fiona! Hold up!" Startled she whirled around. It was Dale. He skidded to a halt next to her panting. He'd obviously run to catch up with her. She waited while he caught his breath. Suddenly he straightened and stared hard at her with glittering hazel eyes. He looked intense. "You're leaving now, aren't you?" Fiona nodded, but then she realized that he must already know this, being Raven's doctor. "Yes, and you're taking Raven with you, right? Of course you are. Sorry, I'm rambling. . ."

"Doctor Sharlen?" she prompted. Dale's wandering gaze snapped back to her eyes.

"Take _care _of him."

"Uh. . ."

"I don't know what it is," he continued, ignoring her. "But I saw something. Promise me you'll take care of him." He was regarding her so seriously that she gulped.

"Y-yes, of course I – "

"Good. Now hurry, you're leaving!" Dale grabbed her shoulder and began steering her towards the end of the corridor at an almost jog. "There are rules here about the hours in which Zoids can depart."

In no time they had reached the double doors. Bursting out of them, Fiona only had time for a frantic wave goodbye to the doctor standing at the entrance. She heard his shouted "Good luck!" and then was running. Halfway across the field she remembered, and paused. She cupped her hands and shouted "_Zeke!_" She waited only a second before a howling beam of light shot towards her and dissolved back into the organoid at her feet. "Let's go," she said breathlessly, then charged off again with Zeke in tow.

Half a minute later the pair came upon a white and grey Shield Liger, prepared for launch, a few hurried-looking staff and Captain Hayes beside it. She was aware of him shaking her hand and thanking her again, but her brain was still attempting to catch up with her. . She heard what he said next though. "Supplies and tools are in the underneath storage bins, and the prisoner has already been installed in the back seat." Raven. "There is nothing to worry about where he is concerned; this Shield Liger was designed to carry prisoners, and as such the back seat prevents sabotage and escape."

"Thank for your help Captain Hayes," she managed to get out. Now that she was on the brink of leaving she was excited and anxious to get going.

"No, we need to thank you for doing this for us. It means a great deal to everyone here." She nodded quickly, saluted, and turned to the Shield Liger. Hurrying up the ladder rungs of the front leg, she saw Zeke shoot upwards and alight on the back, ready. The cockpit was already open, and she only caught a glimpse of Raven in the back seat as she swung into the piloting chair. She would worry about him later. Hitting a switch, Fiona buckled her safety belt whilst the orange cockpit locked in with a click.

_Here I come Van, _she thought in a tumult of emotions. She engaged the Liger, delighting in the whirr of it come to life. She took hold of the control sticks, and thundered out of the gate at top speed.

xXx

It was set to be a lackluster sundown, with clouds shrouding the golden ball of Zi as it made its descent towards the horizon. Even Fiona, with all her strong-willed intentions to keep going for all hours to catch up with Thomas and Van, had to admit to herself that traveling in the dark was folly. She had slowed her initial breakneck pace to a steadier gait so that the Liger wasn't in danger of overheating. She was no technician, and a breakdown out here would be awful. There was no Thomas to rely on this time. She watched endless figures scroll across one of the control screens in front of her. He would know what they meant. He would embark on a long and detailed (and boring) account about what the figures indicated and how he could improve whatever it was tenfold without seeming to realize that nobody understood what he meant. Thomas seemed to be a different person when he was amongst technology. He regarded it all so seriously, without a hint of arrogance, and lost himself in what he was doing. Fiona couldn't help but regard that Thomas as the true Thomas, if there was such a thing. It just seemed more like him than the Thomas who was a lieutenant in the Imperial Army.

Grudgingly she pulled up the terrain map onscreen. It was time to look for a place to stay the night. She scaled forwards to a bottleneck in some canyon walls, which opened into a kind of valley. That would do. It was only about fifteen minutes from where they were.

They. With some degree of surprise she realized that she'd practically forgotten about Raven. She had been so focused on piloting the Zoid, and Raven himself hadn't made a sound. It was possible he'd died and she hadn't even noticed. The thought made her shudder. What kind of thinking was that? She wasn't usually this morbid. The urge to glance behind her was starting to gnaw at her, along with the idea that he really _was _dead and she'd find a corpse in the backseat, or that she'd look behind her and find _nothing _which would be even _worse _. . .

She mentally slapped herself. _Stop it Fiona. You're being ridiculous. Just get to the valley, then you can peek all you want._

To her immense relief she spotted the opening in the canyon wall ahead of them. Luckily it was large enough to allow the Shield Liger through. Carefully steering the Zoid into the narrow rock corridor, she was able to see the space on the other side in the dying sunlight. It wasn't very big; only about five Zoids would have fit into the tiny valley, but it was large enough for just the Shield Liger and its occupants. She cosied up next to the entrance side-on, neatly enclosing the space. Finally she set about the disengaging process, shutting everything down to standby mode. It never hurt to be prepared. She unclipped the seat belt and just sat for a moment. Then she swiveled so that she was balancing on her knees, and peered over the top of her seat.

Someone had given Raven his old clothes back, so he looked as travel-worn as the night before. And now she understood what Captain Hayes had meant by the backseat being escape-proof. His arms were resting between his legs, where the handcuffs that encircled his wrists were chained tightly to the walls on both sides, effectively preventing sideways movement. His feet were locked against the chair by metal rings that came out from the base. Raven's head was hung low, but through the curtain of his hair she could see another ring gleaming dully around his neck. She watched him anxiously, and saw to her relief that he was indeed breathing. Looking back over her should she perused the controls until she spotted a button labeled 'Prisoner Release/Constraint'. She hesitated before pressing it. Should she just leave him here overnight instead?

_Take care of him._

There was a swift series of clicks as the cuffs all disengaged and slid back into the seat. Fiona turned to look at Raven again. He'd raised his head just a bit, and though he wasn't looking at her she could see his dark eyes. His eyes made her uncomfortable. Quickly she hit the button to raise the cockpit. She put her foot on the rim of the cockpit, and hesitated again. "I'm. . . going to set up camp," she said quietly without looking at him, and then made her way down to the ground.

Zeke bounded down after her, offering a querying growl. She smiled and rubbed his nose. "Help me start a fire, buddy?" The organoid thumped his tail enthusiastically as she opened a compartment in the Liger's steel underbelly, which held their supplies. Both she and Zeke gathered an armload (or in the organoid's case, mouth load) of firewood and walked to the center of the small enclosure. They fussed about with flints and matches for a good while before they got a decent blaze going. Zeke snorted with delight when he found two old logs near the walls of the canyon, which he pushed and shoved and rolled over towards the fire to serve as makeshift seats. He then scurried over to Fiona, curious as to what she was doing.

Fiona was in the process of setting a large pot full of soup in the outer rim of embers when she heard some scuffles and the thud from behind her. She felt rather than heard Zeke rumble disturbingly next to her, and reached out to pat him on the flank. "Leave him for now. Be watchful but don't do anything," she whispered under her breath. There was a slight creak as Zeke nodded once, then he curled up next to the fire.

She busied herself with the stew, careful not to let on that she knew he was there. A few minutes passed in silence but for her cooking sounds, before she heard slow footsteps approaching. He didn't sound like he was attempting to sneak up on her, and this was reassuring somehow. Another tiny slice of time passed, and his cautious footsteps faltered, then stopped entirely. She tensed, but knowing that he'd halted a safe enough distance away to be out of attacking range, she convinced herself to relax. If she acted like someone expecting to be attacked it may well be viewed as an invitation to do so. So she continued stirring the soup. After a little bit she dipped a spoon in to test it. It tasted all right, she decided, licking the spoon clean. Not quite as good as Moonbay's famous campfire meals, but decent enough. Picking up two bowls, she ladled some soup into both, Finally she stood, balancing a bowl in each hand, and turned to her charge.

Raven was sitting on one of the logs that Zeke had dragged over, close to the edge further away from her. He'd wrapped his arms loosely under his chest, assuming a slightly slumped form similar to the one from the cockpit. It looked as though he was staring into the fire, but Fiona could see that his empty eyes saw nothing. She realized that she'd paused, and made her way over to where he sat. She held out a bowl.

"Here." Raven started and looked up at her with wide eyes. She continued to hold the bowl out, and slowly he reached up and took it from her. A bandage on his right hand coarsely brushed her skin. Feeling awkward Fiona retreated to the log on the other side of Raven and flopped down in the middle. She dedicated herself to eating her dinner.

Taking another mouthful, she attempted to arrange her scattering thoughts. _You're far too tired, doing so much in one day. Learn to pace yourself. _It was true, of course. The hectic events of last night, Van's letter, charging ahead in a Zoid for hours on end, and now the mystery of Raven. For he was a mystery to her, where to others he was an enemy, a prisoner, a bane. She looked across at him, still staring at the bowl in his hands with a blank face. He looked so wretched. What had happened to the insane child who delighted in violence and death? He, along with his health, has wasted away. It was almost as though he was no longer there. A lost soul. _But did he ever have a soul to begin with?_

People weren't born evil. Life made them that way. Raven had been a child once, with a child's ideals and innocence. She wondered at what point the innocence of Raven had been shattered. Prozen, she suspected, had a great deal to do with it. He'd never said it, but on the few occasions she had witnessed the two together, she'd felt a twisted mix of respect, contempt and obedience coming from the boy. And once, she'd fancied, a hint of fear.

Fiona had told Van about these 'premonitions' and feelings she received, and he had come up with the notion that Ancient Zoidians possessed extra-sensory abilities that today's people lacked. Indeed Reese seemed to be exceptional in that field. Fiona herself had only limited skills, but she endeavored to improve them. She was most successful in communicating with Zeke using her mind, thought it was rare that the two did so. Both of them had to 'open' themselves to the other, and usually one of the two wouldn't be willing at the time. And she felt that they both understood each other well enough without the complication of telepathy.

Her thoughts drifted back to Raven, in the end. It came to her, reluctantly, that she felt sorry for him. There was absolutely _no _reason for this to be so; everything in fact pointed towards the opposite conclusion. He was a murderer, a terrorist, a nightmare, wholly undeserving of life when he extinguished that of others without a care. No matter how different he appeared to be, he was still that person. And he had tried to kill Van. Had always tried to kill him, for no reason other than hatred. Be even with all this damning evidence against him. . . she couldn't help but feel a small bit of pity. She wasn't quite sure why. It was probably linked to his appearance, which was almost ghostly.

She glanced up again. Raven still hadn't touched his food. He was simply staring at the night sky. It was the look of someone who wanted to search for something, but did not know why they looked for. She turned away again. "You need to eat, you know. Or you'll get sick again. . ." she said, not really expecting an answer. Instead she started scraping the last of the soup together in her bowl for one last cold mouthful.

"It doesn't . . . fill the emptiness."

Fiona jumped at the quiet voice and spun to face Raven. He had resumed looking into his soup, except now he raised his spoon and began to eat. His voice had been hoarse and unsteady, as though he hadn't used it for months. She stared at him a while longer. Then she shook herself mentally, and started cleaning up.

Taking the used pot and her bowl and spoon to the Liger, she contemplated what Raven had said. _Emptiness._She wondered, idly, if she should allow him the chance to find himself once more, even if it did mean the old nightmare returned. Anything had to be better than what he seemed to be living. For she suspected now, through observation and her odd abilities, that Raven had forgotten almost everything.

She would ask him. But not now. Fiona had the feeling he would not be willing to talk _with _a person for some time yet.

Shutting away the utensils, she opened another compartment and hauled out two sleeping bags. She dragged them over to a relatively flat spot a few metres from the fire. Warm or not, sleeping next to a fire wasn't the most clever of ideas. Fiona dropped her bag, and then took the other a few paces away before dropping it as well. There was no way she'd sleep next to him. Zeke yawned from his spot near the fire, and promptly unfurled himself to get up and make his way over to her. He nudged the small of her back with his snout, clearly indicating that she should sleep. She smiled at the organoid in the dark.

"Yes, yes, I'm going to." She looked over towards the fire again, and saw that Raven had been watching her. So, at least he knew where he'd be sleeping. Otherwise she had the notion he would have just keeled over on the log. The bowl in his hands was empty. "Just. . . leave the bowl there. I'll put it away in the morning," she said, and then turned back to her sleeping bag. Zeke was glancing curiously at her, obviously wondering what madness his companion had been infected with. "Don't look at me like that Zeke." He kept staring. "It's rude, you know." With a snort the organoid flopped down into the dirt and started snoring loudly. Sighing in amusement, Fiona unzipped the bag and kicked off her boots. Once she had wriggled into it, she finally _did _feel tired. But she didn't sleep instantly.

The moon had risen above the canyon walls before the other person in the valley went to his bed.

xXx

Against all possible odds, Fiona slept well that night. Only once did she wake, to see the darkened, sharp silhouette of Shadow watching them from above the valley. She went to sleep again almost immediately.

xXx

"Damn, they're _everywhere!_" Thomas shouted, jumping awkwardly to avoid a barrage of fire.

BEAC was flashing urgently all the enemies in range, and he could hardly make sense of it all. There were just far too many to handle alone. Command Wolfs, Gunsnipers and scatterings of other Zoid types literally covered the land in front of him. Cursing, he punched in the command for the Megalo-Max again. If he kept this up the gun barrels would overheat, and he'd be in real trouble then. The huge kickback from the attack slammed him back into his seat, temporarily blinded. He opened his eyes again, and was incredulous. He'd only taken out three of them!

"Van, this is getting serious!" he called to his ally, who was piloting the Blade Liger ferociously beside him. "There's too many. We need to call backup in from Redstone."

"No we don't!" came the harsh reply. "I can do this, it's not that hard. Have some faith."

"Have some _sense! _We're outnumbered a hundred to one. I know you're a good pilot, Van, but even heroes can die." Thomas was cut short by a rampaging Gunsniper, who fired directly at the Di Bison's leg. He narrowly averted disaster, and then gunned the Zoid down. But two more took its place.

_This is insane. I can't win with these odds. _BEAC shrilly warned of an attack from the rear, and he furiously wrestled the controls around. He was constantly aware that his ammo was being depleted, his shields were failing and there was moderate damage to the Di Bison's armor. He was being worn away, like a rock beneath the waves of the ocean.

Blasting another Command Wolf into oblivion, Thomas suddenly spotted the Blade Liger charging out of the battle. "Van!" he screamed in shock, before buckling under the onslaught of three Zoids firing together.

But Van kept going.

Fear consumed him then. He was alone. Alone on the battlefield, with no one to help him, and everyone to hurt him. They all wanted him dead. Even Van didn't care enough to stay with him.

There was a terrific shriek of splitting metal, and the Di Bison was hurled forwards. The cockpit shield was cracked, and hanging from his safety harness, Thomas could see the Gunsniper taking aim. Point blank. Dead center.

The blinding light and total black came at the same time.

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Notes: That was a whopping 8,078 words. God DAMN! dies

Once again, all the medical mumbo-jumbo is completely fake. I have no PhD.

Dreams are no longer in italics. It would have interfered with the dreams I have planned for later in the story, which are bloody huge. Nobody wants pages full of italics.

I have changed BEEK's name to BEAC, because it actually makes more sense. BEAC stands for Bio-Electronic Analyzing Computer. See? Genius.

This is my Valentine's Day gift to you all. It's much more satisfying than a damned card, isn't it?

Don't even talk to me about the next chapter yet.

Vappa


	5. Tell Me I Was Right

Merf, I must be the only person to take this long on single chapters. I'm mildly depressed about the lack of reviews for such a huge chapter last time, but I won't let it get to me. I'm doing this for myself, mostly, and reviews are just icing on the cake.

And yes, I do have a pairing in mind, but I'm not telling you a damn thing about it. It comes right at the end, so you'll just have to wait, suffer and speculate. Hey look, a rhyme XD. Oh well. Another thing. In the show, I don't particularly. . . like Van. Sometimes I even hate him. But I love what I'm turning him into in this story, so it's all good! I swear, watching Evangelion has messed me up. I've got so many ways to twist these characters until they're complete mental cases that belong in an institute for crazy people . . . ahem. Anyway, I guess what I may be trying to say is that Evangelion deserves a lot of credit for the inspirations in this story. Kudos to you, Hideaki Anno! wanders off to obsess over .hack/SIGN

Side note: this chapter deals extensively in flashbacks. The first example is obviously the large italics section. But later in the story, there is a set of flashbacks which aren't in italics. The way to tell these are flashbacks is that I use a lot of ". . ." leading into the section and leading out of it. There's also a dream WITHIN the flashback, which is written in italics. I hope that makes sense. Also, this chapter has a bit of blood and swearing, but nothing awful. That's what chapter 6 is for.

I don't own Zoids. You overestimate me.

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I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Five: Tell Me I Was Right_

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"Why won't you listen to me!" Thomas shouted, gaining the attention of several soldiers nearby. Feeling fury rise in his chest Van spun around and glared at the Guardian.

"Why the hell should I? All you're gonna do is berate me on my tactics again!" he argued hotly. Thomas' green eyes were livid with temper, and Van knew what he was going to say a second before he did.

"Tactics? I don't know how your mind classifies 'tactics', Van, but I suggest you take a look at yourself. There was no excuse for what you did."

"Are you mad? I _explained _it to you. . ."

"Yeah, and that's what stumps me! I cannot see how retreating to the edge of the battle to fight is strategic."

"You just. . ."

"And you left," Thomas continued, deliberately ignoring him, "without _any _regard for what was happening to the Imperial forces that were coming from behind, or me. You are not a one man show!"

"I don't think that I am!" he exploded. "And I _don't _see what your problem is. You didn't _die_!" Van thought he saw something flicker through the younger Schubaltz's eyes, but was far too angry to pay heed to it. He was being so ungrateful! He came back for Thomas, and saved his life, and this was his thanks? "And we beat Hiltz's army, so there's nothing to discuss anymore. What's done is done." He refused to think about that phrase.

Thomas regarded him coldly. "I don't think you're being rational." Finally, something in Van snapped. His patience for this arrogant idiot was absolutely gone. He rounded on the taller man ferociously.

"I don't _CARE _what you think! Not everything is about _you_! Now you can take your accusations and just piss off!"

Thomas looked so utterly stricken that Van immediately felt shocked at himself. His anger burned out and left a horrid sick feeling inside him. He stared at Thomas. He just stood there. Usually, Van expected the impassive mask to come forth from Thomas when his emotions came through for a moment, which he'd become so accustomed to. But not this time. This time, he was left looking completely dejected, eyes glittering with something he couldn't identify.

"I do realize that not everything is about me," he said flatly, which was worse than anger in itself. "More than you know." And he turned, and walked away from him.

Van was left looking after him as he left. He felt terrible. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to take back those hateful things he'd said. He'd managed to do what he'd believed was impossible: he'd hurt Thomas deeply. "Thomas, I didn't mean. . ." he whispered, unable to call out to the Imperial's retreating form. But what right did he have to apologize? He couldn't make up for what he'd said. Thomas was right. His actions were illogical, and induced by an anger he couldn't explain. He was self-destructive; a habit brought to life in him four long years ago. And he may have just destroyed his friendship with Thomas.

It was a dull day, with icy metal clouds blanketing the sky. The tarmac was hard and cold beneath his feet as he stood in the middle of Redstone bases' launch runway.

He'd never felt so alone.

xXx

_The Blade Liger whirled and slashed, mowing down Zoids like they were made of paper. Suddenly, Van could see an opening, leading out of the battle. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took the chance and threw the Liger down the path. If he could get to the outer rim, he'd be able to fight better. Some part of him objected to this logic, but he clamped down on it ruthlessly. _Doubt will cause your death. _Finally he broke free of the mass of Hiltz's army. Deftly he extended the blades once more and took off around the edge, slicing the Zoids at their middles. There was a burst of noise from his radio unit but he was too caught up in the violence of battle._

_Sweeping around for another run, Van caught sight of the Di Bison at the other end of the battle. As he watched, a pack of Gunsnipers fired in succession. The Di Bison was beaten into the ground as chunks of metal flew off the hull. He saw the Gunsniper come forward, and position itself directly in front of the fallen Zoid. Panicking, Van pushed the Blade Liger into overdrive, ramming the controls up to full speed. He rocketed around the sides of the battle towards the Di Bison. The gun barrels of the Gunsniper began to glow. He had bare seconds left. Five hundred metres, four hundred, two hundred, fifty. . ._

_At the same moment the Gunsniper fired the Blade Liger slammed into it. Van rammed with all his power, knocking the shot to the side. And then he was in a rage. Through the violent tearing, crashing and fighting, his only clear thought was that this Zoid had been about to kill someone he cared about. It would not survive his fury. He was screaming as he fought; quick, savage yells as the blows landed on his opponent. He delivered the last attack, he beat it, he won._

_He ended his assault, panting hard. Looking up through the shield he saw a ferocious battle going on. The Imperial forces had arrived whilst he fought the Gunsniper, and were now driving Hiltz's Zoids back and away. Van, who had been fighting close to the frontal attack, was now left alone._

_Wait. His eyes widened. Not alone._

_He twisted his neck frantically, searching for the Di Bison. There, to his left. The front half was a mess and hardly recognizable as the head and cockpit. Van hammered the eject button and leapt out of the pilot's seat. He could still hear the rumble of hundreds of Zoids moving away from there, but he completely ignored it. The only sounds he was aware of were his breathing and the light thud of his boots on the churned up earth. He stopped dead in front of the Di Bison, aghast. The Gunsniper's shot, though it had been knocked aside, had burned through the Zoid's right side. The metal was charred and disfigured, and almost a third of the area deemed the cockpit had been hit. Fighting down hysteria, Van quickly scrambled up the cleared side of the Di Bison. The tinted orange 'eye' of the bull-like Zoid was still intact here, but too filthy and cracked to see through. He glanced around, and found the emergency outside cockpit ejection switch. Pressing it, he heard a faint beep and a small grinding sound, but the hatch did not open. He tried again, but there was no response at all this time. The cockpit was sealed shut, and would not open. _

_Van looked back to the window. _It should be big enough. . . I hope it will be. _He balanced himself on the tilted surface and drew back his leg. There was a terrific crack as he brought the heel of his boot crashing down on the small portal. Thick, spidery lines spread their way all over the hard glass. He had purposely not broken it that way; he didn't want to hurt Thomas with flying glass. Dropping back down to his knees he used his hands to push the fractured window inwards. It snapped and fell into the cockpit in a thousand pieces, like falling rain lit by the __noon__ sun. Van brushed away the last of the shards and poked his head inside the opening._

_His first thought was that Thomas was dead, and he almost buckled with despair. He was limp in the safety harness, head turned away, with blood flowing freely from a wound above his hairline. But as his gaze fell, Van saw his chest rise and fall with breath. He was still alive. _Oh thank god, he's OK, oh god. . . _he thought, sinking downwards with relief. He could have cried from the sheer emotional trauma on the spot, but now was not the time. Thomas may have been alive but he was hurt, and head injuries could be extremely dangerous. He had to get him out of there._

_He pulled back from the hole, and looked out towards the desert plains. The Imperials were far off in the distance, still giving chase. He couldn't wait for help, it would take too long._

_This time he crawled through the hole until his arms and chest were inside as well. It was a bit of a tight fit; any smaller and he wouldn't have been able to do it. But he was confident that he could slide Thomas out. He was taller than Van, but less broad in the shoulders and leaner. It was a lucky thing that the cockpit of the Di Bison was narrower than the Blade Liger's. He reached over and unclasped the safety belts from around Thomas. Alarm fluttered in his chest when Thomas slid down a bit in the seat, but he managed to get a grip on his shoulder and stopped him moving._

_It was awkward work, slowly dragging Thomas out of the Di Bison. Van was giving an almost obsessive amount of attention to being careful. _He's not going to die because of me, _he kept thinking. _I won't let him die because of me. I can't let anyone die . . . because of me. _When it came to getting Thomas' limp body through the cockpit window, Van became even more careful. Once he'd maneuvered his head through he could pull the rest of his body out quicker, with less concern of hurting him. It was the head wound that Van was deathly worried about._

_Finally, he'd done it. He sat back and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He glanced over at Thomas, lying flat beside him. His face had a sickly pallor to it that spoke of blood loss. Van couldn't tell if his skin was that pale elsewhere; Thomas' outfit completely covered him. And he'd never seen him wear anything else. Sometimes he wondered if Thomas was ashamed of himself in some peculiar way, which caused him to dress like that. But he always dismissed that thought; Thomas was not a shameful person. His hair was stained a dark, rusty red by the blood, a stark difference compared to his natural tawny gold. This prompted Van back into action._

_He jumped off the Di Bison and sprinted back towards the Blade Liger. It was too far to drag him; Thomas may not have been heavy but pulling a dead weight was difficult at the best of times. He scaled the Liger's leg and got inside the seat. He left the cockpit open as he was only going forward a few metres. The crashing of the Liger's footfalls was loud but brief as he pulled up beside the wrecked Di Bison. Van had one leg out before he thought of something else. Quickly he tilted the control sticks, and obediently the feline machine crouched down on its front legs. Now the cockpit was nearly level with Thomas._

_Getting out again Van managed to haul the younger Shubaltz brother up into the passenger seat without much problem. As he buckled all the seat belts, he saw Thomas wince a bit and groan. He couldn't help but be fascinated that he could see the pain in Thomas' blood-streaked face. _How hard is it to bottle your feelings up, Thomas? _he__ sadly wondered. Then he tilted his head down a bit. _But . . . isn't' that what I've been doing?

xXx

Thomas pushed open the door with a creak and gazed around. Another bare, featureless military room that he would call 'home' for an indefinite period of time. A bed, a desk, a window. That was all. His suitcase was already at the base of his bed, holding the few odd pieces he bothered to carry with him. Other people would call them personal items. Over on the desk lay his much more impressive toolkit, full of screwdrivers, wires, bolts, circuit boards, pliers. All the things needed to work with technology. But he didn't feel like using any of them at the moment.

He went over to the window and drew the faded grey curtains shut. Absently he tossed his small head mounted communicator onto the table. The nurse had placed it in his hands earlier, explaining that she'd had to take it off to put the bandage around his head. He turned on the small desktop lamp.

Shutting the door, the room was now enclosed with only a dim artificial light to show its features. This was preferable right now. He sighed, and without bothering to remove his boots threw himself onto the bed and stretched out full length on his stomach. The tips of his feet were still over the edge. He pillowed his head on his arms, and stared at the plain wall in front of him.

_I don't care what you think._

Thomas shifted a bit, trying to ease the ache in his bruised ribs. He shouldn't dwell on it. It was to be expected. Nobody really cared about what he thought; they only humoured him to try and make him feel better about himself. He didn't know why they bothered. They should just tell him what they really thought. He had no pride to be hurt by their comments. Running a gloved finger along the bandage, he wondered why Van had saved him. His actions made no sense. It was clear to him that Van disliked him, even moreso after his retreat from the battle today. So why come back at all? He would most likely never understand. Feeling oddly pained by this train of thought, Thomas allowed himself to sink into the melancholy he kept hidden within his mind. The world became bleaker through his eyes, though he could still only see the grey painted wall. He dismantled the thoughts much like he would a computer. _Van only saved you because of guilt, and obligation. Van protects all life. And now he regrets doing it, and told you what he really thought. It's better this way. _This dark rationalizing was a depressing comfort. Thomas shut his eyes and relaxed into the sadness that was himself.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but he knew he didn't sleep. Sleep was a welcome darkness; this was just reality. He wondered what the fabric of the bandage felt like. Soft, or rough? He couldn't tell through his gloves. His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. Immediately he rolled off the bed onto his feet. Before going to the door, he flipped open the hatch on his toolkit and pushed the lid open. Then he opened the door. A young soldier, only two years his junior at most, saluted when he saw Thomas.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Lieutenant Schubaltz. I hope I'm not interrupting your work." Thomas saw the man's eyes flick over to the tool case and back to him again. He affected a weary look.

"It's nothing life-threatening. What is it?" he asked tersely. The soldier resumed his professional manner immediately.

"I was ordered to inform you that Miss Fiona Alisi Linette has sent us a transmission. She'd traveling here by Zoid and will arrive within twenty minutes."

Thomas frowned a bit. "Why are you telling _me _this and not Lieutenant Flyheight?" He was genuinely confused.

"Well sir, Miss Linette expressed her wish that you both be notified. However, we haven't been able to locate Lieutenant Flyheight. We were hoping that you may know of his whereabouts."

Things kept getting stranger. Where could Van have gone? He didn't usually fly off the map without telling people where he was going. Thomas was about to ask how long he had been missing, but instead said, "How should I know where he is? I don't know him that well anyway." True enough. The soldier looked a little uncomfortable, but delivered the rest of his message.

"She'll be arriving at Gate 3. We'll try to inform Lieutenant Flyheight as soon as possible. Sir," he said, saluting once more. Thomas returned the gesture and watched the young Imperial head back down the corridor. He turned over all the new information thoughtfully. Randomly, he wondered where Karl was. He sighed. If Fiona was going to arrive soon, and nobody could find Van, she should at least have somebody there to meet her.

He was no substitute for Van, but surely he was better than nothing.

xXx

Finally the walls of Redstone base came into view. Fiona was relieved. It had been a long, boring week of travel across featureless desert to get here, and she wasn't willing to do it again soon. When the base had appeared on the computer's map, she'd been elated and called ahead. She was so eager to see Van and Thomas again. Whilst she made her requests, she'd also asked for a doctor to be present when they arrived.

She reflected on the five days spent traveling with one of Zi's most infamous villains. After the first night, she'd sensed Raven withdraw further from the world, and he hadn't spoken again. Fiona hadn't made a great effort to get him to, but she had spoken to him on some occasions. Despite her prompts, Raven had rejected most of his meals, eating only rarely and in small amounts. She had admitted to herself that this behaviour alarmed her. Though he wasn't exactly her best friend she didn't want him to die. Not anymore.

_And really, _she thought as the Shield Liger approached the gates, _I don't think I ever wanted him dead. I just wanted him to leave and stop hurting people. _Morosely she wondered what Van would say about all this. Much as she didn't like to think of it, Van was not indestructible. Ever since the reports that hinted at Raven being alive, he had seemed slightly different. And his mood on the night he had been caught . . . it didn't bode well for his state of mind. She needed to talk to him.

Stopping at Gate 3, Fiona punched in her security code at the prompt. She was glad that both Imperial and Republican bases accepted the codes of the Guardian Force members; otherwise there would be a lot of paperwork to fill in. After a few minutes the screen flashed approval, and she entered the gates. There were a few clanging thumps from somewhere on the hull. She smiled. Zeke always banged his tail around when he was happy.

She pulled the Liger up next to a Command Wolf, and disengaged all the systems. Opening the cockpit she got out and stood on the Zoid's leg, looking around her. An excited growl turned her head. Zeke, perched behind the Shield Liger's head, was practically bouncing with suppressed excitement. She grinned at the silver organoid.

"Go on Zeke, go find him,"

Instantly Zeke bounded off the Shield Liger and trotted away. She turned to look at Raven, who was staring blankly at the sky. She didn't need to undo the restraints; she hadn't had the heart to use them again after the first time. "We're here so once you get out you'll officially be a prisoner of the Empire. There's a doctor waiting on the ground." Knowing better than to wait for an answer, Fiona swung down to the ladder rungs and descended.

Once she reached the ground she glanced around eagerly for Van. But after couple of moments, she realized that he wasn't there. Her spirits deflated. Where was he?

"He isn't here," came a quiet voice from behind her. She sighed, but didn't turn around.

"Why not, Thomas? Do you know?"

Silence for a few moments, then, "I'm not one to speculate."

Fiona turned to face Thomas. He was looking down at her with a hint of sympathy in his lime-coloured eyes. The familiarity of his stable presence made her feel slightly better. Then she noticed the bandage around his head.

"Oh god, Thomas, what happened!" His eyes flicked upwards as he realized what she meant and he shrugged.

"Hiltz. He came, he saw, he didn't conquer, he left."

"So you won then? But you're usually so careful Thomas. Is it serious?"

"Just a deep laceration, bruised ribs. Nothing important." Either he was putting on a tough act like usual, or he genuinely didn't care much.

"What about the Di Bison?" She sensed Thomas close off from her, slam the barrier down. He didn't want to talk about it. His eyes showed that clearly.

"Oh. . . I see," she murmured, glancing away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was my fault, not yours."

"Please don't be like that, Thomas. I'm sure it wasn't your fault." He looked away from her. Fiona wondered at this quirk in his behaviour. He was usually out to pin the blame on anything else other than himself, so for him to seem so sure that it was his fault was a strange occurrence. She cast about for a change of subject.

"So, how's Van?" She never expected the brief look of hurt that flashed across his face. Any thoughts that she might have imagined it were banished by the coldness of his tone.

"You tell me how he is. Because I certainly don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, you probably shouldn't ask me about it. When you find Van, ask him instead." She could tell that Thomas was really uncomfortable about the subject of Van, and wouldn't discuss it any further, even if she asked him. Fiona was about to tell him that she would go looking for Van when she saw his eyes focus sharply on something behind her. "What's he doing here?" he asked.

She turned and saw that Raven had come down from the Shield Liger and was standing close to the Zoid in its shadow. As she watched, the doctor she had requested but hadn't noticed came up to Raven and seemed to assess his condition. Then he turned and led him away, presumably to the hospital block. Realizing that Thomas was watching her, she scratched her head absently.

"It's a bit of a strange story, but I brought him here so that he could be taken custody by the Gailos Empire. It was . . . an interesting trip." Thomas looked remarkably concerned.

"He didn't attack you or anything, did he?"

"Oh no, of course not." Seeing his mystified look, she explained what she'd come to believe about Raven's behaviour and state of mind over the journey. He looked thoughtful.

"Well, we still need to guard him. I'm sorry, but he just doesn't have a trustworthy reputation."

"I know, Thomas, and I expected that. I just think . . . I was to know more about him. All I know about him starts from the age of fourteen. I feel like maybe, if I can understand his past, maybe I can help him."

The Imperial looked a bit dumbstruck. "You're so thoughtful, you know, Miss Fiona," he said admiringly. "You can find compassion for almost anyone." She flushed a bit.

"Well, I try," she laughed, a bit embarrassed. "I'm going to go look for Van now. The sun's practically setting as we speak." Waving goodbye, she set off towards the inner area of buildings. A thought occurred to her when she was only thirty paces away.

"Thomas!" she called, spinning on her heel to look back at him, about to leave himself. "Whatever's bothering you, you can tell us about it, if you want to. Don't keep it locked up inside." Even from where she was she could see the surprise on Thomas' face. He obviously hadn't even considered this a possibility. It saddened her that he wasn't really close to her or Van. He didn't seem to have any other friends.

Van resurfaced in her mind then, and she set off to find him once more.

xXx

Thomas stood in front of the mangled Di Bison, newly deposited in the Zoid repairs area of the base. It was melded and ruined on one side. They would need to replace most of the wiring, and all of the plate metal. The core was largely undamaged, which was promising. The Di Bison, with considerable time and effort, could be rebuilt.

His eyes drifted over to the right. Where the cockpit window had been there was now a gaping dark hole. Van had done that; broken the glass in order to free him. He brushed the thought aside like an irritating fly that kept coming back to hover in his mind.

Walking around to the side of the mechanical weapon, he approached the underbelly. Rather than duck under Thomas allowed his hands to see for him as he felt around for the compartment he needed. It must have been further back than he remembered, for he found himself pressed up against the hard metal, still reaching underneath. Finally his fingers happened upon the latch, and unhooked it. The plates of armour were smooth and cold against his cheek, positioned as he was. Retrieving what he needed from the compartment, he slid away from the Di Bison and stepped back.

In his hand, he held a small square-shaped metal box. Grooves and lines were etched into the sides, and a series of connections and wires fed out of a thin opening on one edge. Written in stark black letters on top, in his own handwriting, was: "BEAC Main Processor; Backup 3". He wrapped his fingers around the powerful computing device. All the other backups, and the real copy, had been destroyed or damaged beyond repair during the fight. He was glad he had possessed the foresight to scatter the separate copies in different locations inside the Di Bison. If he'd used only one in the cockpit he'd have lost it for good.

He glanced back up at the worn side of his Zoid. Yes, his Zoid. It was his possession; one of the things that defined his existence. He knew its structure, circuits, processing commands, data sequencing. It was like a technological extension of himself.

He lifted his hand and placed it on the Di Bison's side, still clutching BEAC's core.

xXx

_It's been two hours since the moons came out. And I still haven't found him._

She sighed, looking at Zoid Storage Shed 57. Fiona had looked in as many places as possible for Van, starting with places he usually visited in bases. But he hadn't been in the meal hall; he hadn't been in the command center; he hadn't been in the visitor's quarters. Then she'd looked everywhere else, to no avail. Finally, she'd started systematically checking the Zoid hangars, hoping to find either Van or the Blade Liger. This was the third-last shed on the base. Turning the handle on the side door, she pushed it inwards and went inside.

The shed had a massive amount of floor and ceiling space inside. Each was designed to fit ten regular-sized Zoids within it. But at the moment, only one Zoid occupied it. The widely strung lights on the high roof illuminated the blue-plated Blade Liger and all of its deadly edges. Dents and scorches patterned the usually pristine metal. Standing alone in the hangar, it looked abnormally small. Even smaller was the figure sitting on its front paw.

Fiona felt a rush of relief and warmth at having found Van at last. She walked over towards the Blade Liger. As she came closer, she could see that Van was sitting with one leg outstretched and the other propped up against the Liger's claw, with his head resting against his knee and arms hooked around his leg. When she was about ten paces away, he opened his eyes. She stopped next to him.

"Hi," she said. Finally he lifted his head and looked at her.

"Hi."

They held each other's gaze for a while, and then Van shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the outer-most claw. Fiona took the silent invitation and sat down next to him. They both looked out across the concrete floor. It was all right to do this; sometimes conversations weren't the most necessary part of companionship. Somehow though, Fiona felt the fluttering edges of Van's calm exterior. He wasn't himself. Normally they were content to sit in silence. But Van was projecting guilt and unease. She could tell that something was on his mind, and he was desperate to do something about it. He just didn't seem to know what. His fingers kept tensing where they curled around the edge of the metal, and then relaxing.

All this she felt without looking his way. She knew that ordinary people who were close friends could tell things about the other without words, but she wondered just how much of her perceptions were Ancient Zoidian in nature.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you," Van murmured, breaking the long silence in tones coloured by guilt and sadness. She glanced at him, but he was staring into his lap.

"It's OK. Thomas was there." Silence. "He said that nobody could find you." She left the obvious unvoiced: _I couldn't find you either. _He shifted a bit, knocking his boots together absently.

"I was on the roof." Fiona raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. "Sometimes it's better where I can't see people. Zeke found me there."

Practically summoned by Van's words, there was a growling snort from up somewhere on the Liger's back. Fiona smiled a bit, but it quickly dissolved. She was going to have to press Van to find out what was bothering him. He was very reluctant when talking about himself. She decided to start with the issue of Thomas.

"Thomas seemed a bit . . . annoyed about something," she said, choosing her words carefully. Making it sound like he was to blame would be a bad idea, though she didn't know if it was to do with Van or not.

Van's reaction was agitated. "That guy's _always _annoyed about something. He should learn not to take things so seriously all the time!" It sounded to Fiona like a half-hearted attempt to direct anger at the Imperial, when he wasn't really angry with him. After a few moments though, Van sighed. "But he's got every right to be annoyed this time. I yelled at him."

"What? Why?"

"Well. . ." Fiona listened as Van quickly and bluntly told her about the battle with Hiltz, his strange course of action and seeing Thomas shot down in the midst of hundreds of Zoids. By the sounds of it, he was cutting major corners in his telling, and when he mentioned rescuing Thomas in one short sentence, she came to suspect there was a lot he wasn't mentioning. Definitely not his feelings. Van looked irritated when he came to the end of his tale.

"I had the decency to save him, and the first thing he does is tell me how stupid my tactics were! Not even a 'Thank you for saving my life Van', just start tearing me to shreds as always." His face lapsed then into an unhappy look. "And then I told him I didn't care what he thought. It was awful. I've never seen him look so upset. . . if that's what it was. Seeing Thomas hurt doesn't happen very often." His voice kept getting softer. He snapped his head up then and looked at her with wide, ebony eyes. "But what makes it worse is that _he was right. _And I knew it, too. I knew what I'd done was stupid and without reason. But I . . . I wouldn't let myself believe it. I got mad; mad at myself, mad at my behaviour. And then I convinced myself that it was _Thomas _who was in the wrong. So he . . . I blew up at him. I couldn't take the anger. Thomas was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't hate him . . . but he must think that now."

Eventually he buried his face in his hands. "I'm such a monster," came his muffled voice. _So this is why Thomas was so cold on the subject, _Fiona thought. She reached out a hand a rubbed Van's back.

"You aren't a monster, Van," she said reassuringly. He needed to see this, to overcome his guilt.

"Yes I am . . ." he moaned, still covering his face.

"No, you're not. You're just stressed out. Everyone gets mad sometimes." He slid his hands away and stared unseeingly at the floor.

"You don't understand. It's not just that. When Thomas . . . when he was taken down, there was a Gunsniper. It was right in front of him and. . ." Fiona felt a shiver run through his body. "It was going to shoot him. He was going to die. And so I . . . I ran back and . . . knocked it aside." Van's voice choked up and tears glittered in his eyes. "After I knocked the shot away from Thomas, I lost control. I was so enraged with that Gunsniper. It would have killed Thomas. So I killed it. I didn't stop! I just. . . lost myself in rage and anger. I didn't even consider if there was a person inside. I didn't care at all. I wanted it dead. I killed it. _I murdered it._"

As he said the last sentence, Van started to cry. Fiona was alarmed by the sudden outburst of emotion on her friend's behalf, and quickly pulled him over into an embrace. He hugged her back, still crying, holding onto her as though afraid she'd disappear. She ran her hand through his messy, dark hair and felt incredible compassion for him. No one, not even her, had known what Van was like in his own mind. Nobody had realized the state of his distress. People expected Van to be a hero; shining and pure. But he couldn't be that person. It was an impossible aspiration.

"It's like Raven all over again," he said despairingly. Fiona mentally tensed at his mention of the hated subject. She had known it would have gone there eventually, as all things seemed to. And she remembered four years ago, as Van began to talk again.

"It was like a nightmare, seeing him come back. It smashed everything I thought I'd known. But at the same time I was happy that he was alive. Him being alive meant I was wrong about so many things I wanted to be wrong about. That's what makes it so hard. I don't know what I want. How can I want him to be alive, and also want him to be dead? I'm so messed up, Fiona." He pulled back to look at her, eyes now dry, but cheeks still damp. "I remember before . . . before I defeated him, it was alright to hate him. It was all right, because he was constantly there, always destroying and fighting and killing. He never allowed an opening for anything else, so I hated him for what I saw. It was all I ever saw of him; his hatred towards me, the Empire, the Republic, everyone. But then we fought that day, and I heard him scream. It was anger at first, threats and blind rage. Then it changed. Right before I hit him with the blade. He wasn't screaming in anger then . . . it was fear. And pain." Van brushed a fallen strand of hair away from his face. "Afterwards, I couldn't stop myself thinking about it. That scream tore me apart. I started feeling _sorry _for him, of all things. I didn't want to, tried so hard not to, but it happened anyway. I felt like it might have been all right to pity him, now that he was gone. Looking at him that way, as a person dead and gone, it seemed so terrible. Raven hated everything. He must have even hated himself, to cause so much pain to others and himself and not think about it. He was incapable of love or happiness . . . and I pitied him because of that.

"Why did he hate me so much? He singled me out and made me his personal enemy. And I had to fight him because of that, or terrible things would happen to you, to Irvine and Moonbay and Rudolph, to people I didn't even know. I had to fight. Nobody else could. And I had to . . . I had to go all the way at the end. I had to kill him." Van trailed off, staring at the ground once more, hunching himself inwards just the smallest bit. There were a thousand things Fiona wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to grasp which one would do, or how to say them. Finally she tilted her head upwards and gazed at the corrugated ceiling.

"Van. It wasn't your fault. And, to some degree, it wasn't really Raven's either. You tried so hard to be his friend, and I don't think he was able to understand that. So he reacted the only way he could. With violence. I think Prozen had a lot to do with the way Raven was. Van, he hated you because you _didn't _hate him; not at first. The fact that you kept defeating him was the agony that consumed him later, and became the reason for him to destroy you." Van was quiet, eyes obscured by his hair. "You were only fourteen," she said softly. "You were only children. Children, forced to play war games that you didn't understand, and pitted against each other by a hundred factors beyond your control. It was a horrible thing to be sucked into. But you're OK, Van. You made it through."

"I don't think I'm OK. I don't think I ever will be. Especially not now. Not with him back . . . he made me remember things I never wanted to think about again. And I still hate him. I still hate the fact that I hate him. I still . . . hate." He fell silent then. Fiona decided not to go any further. Van was only torturing himself further, though telling her about it had eased some of the strain on his heart. Besides, he was still shaky from his sudden rush of grief, and was obviously exhausted to the point of collapse. She ran her thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that lingered there.

"I won't tell you not to dwell on it, Van, because I know that would be pointless." He looked at her with tired dark eyes. "For now, I'll only tell you that I think you need rest, more than anything else. I need it too. We both took that long journey, and you've been fighting battles all day." After a few moments, he nodded his consent, and pushed himself up from the Liger's paw. She got up as well, watching as he scrubbed his face dry with a fist. He offered her a weak grin.

"Sorry for going to pieces on you like that. I can't imagine it was the best welcome."

"Van, believe me when I saw that seeing you was all the welcome I needed." They walked to the door together. As Fiona reached for the handle, Van's hand came down on the door. She gave him a wondering look.

"Just one question. When you arrived here today . . . you brought Raven with you, didn't you?" Fiona, startled by the insight he'd managed to show, could only nod. He sighed, a tangled mix of emotions she couldn't decipher. "That's what I thought."

xXx

Raven lay in the relative darkness of his hospital room. Curled in the sheets, he watched the night sky through the small window with wide eyes. This hospital seemed much like the one from a week before. But there were small differences. There was no IV inserted in his arm here. The nurses' uniforms were cut differently. Small things, yet he had picked up on them. That he had remembered enough of the last place to realize that this place was different was something. He clung to it. If he could keep these things from slipping away into the mist, he felt he might understand something. Something more than the cold, sterile information that his hidden mind offered him. To have memories of experiences was . . . comforting? Raven wasn't sure. But he wanted to understand. It was all he could do to have a purpose.

The faint stars shimmered from their roosts in the heavens. He gazed at them. They meant something, didn't they? It was his forgotten self that compelled him to watch them. He remembered lying on the ground and looking at them, next to the girl.

_Fiona Alisi Linette _came the instinctive prompt. Some other information briefly flitted through his mind. Ancient Zoidian. Fourteen. Companion of Van Flyheight. He wondered how he knew these things about her. Perhaps he had known her once. She seemed to have recognized him; called him by that name, "Raven". But he had been too tired to try remembering, or forgot for a while.

Raven blinked. The sky was changing. Clouds, dark clouds, were steadily covering up the stars. Soon, the sky was nothing but a convoluted mass of grey.

As soon as the stars were gone, his ability to stay awake dissolved. His eyelids slid shut fast, and he was asleep before the first drops of rain pattered against the glass window.

xXx

The uncommon sounds of rainfall clattered onto the roof above. Van stared at the ceiling in the dark, listening. It hardly ever rained so far out in the desert. _How strange, _he thought. _And really, how fitting. _Though the rain intensified to a dull roar, it failed to keep his mind captive. He turned his thoughts and feelings over and over, not sure what he was seeking. The main things that kept reappearing were his guilt over Thomas and the presence of Raven. He focused hard on the former to block Raven out of his mind.

He finally decided to apologize to Thomas tomorrow. He wouldn't get any peace of mind until he knew that Thomas didn't think ill of him. At least he could tell him how sorry he was . . . even if he didn't forgive him.

Scrubbing at his sore eyes, Van cursed his awful sleeping habits. The events of the past two weeks were bound to catch up to him soon. There had been the termination of Reese's plans and control of Karl; the capture of Raven; a weeklong trek across the desert; and a harsh, brutal battle against Hiltz's considerable army. It had been practically non-stop. He was liable to drop dead from exhaustion at this rate.

Then he blinked as he remembered what had happened in the Zoid hangar. Fiona had asked him what was wrong. At first he had avoided a true answer by being angry with Thomas, but he hadn't been able to handle the pretense. So he'd, slowly, pulled the truth out of himself. And in the end, he'd completely broken down. Surely that was the result of his stress and exhaustion. He'd been gathering confusion and anger and grief and not letting them go; not releasing the pressure. But in allowing himself to open up to Fiona, he'd unexpectedly allowed his suppressed feelings to surface as well. He hadn't been able to control it anymore. He had even cried.

_I can't believe I cried. I haven't cried since . . . _Van forcibly cut the end off his train of thought. _No. Don't go there. No. _But he knew it was an impossible battle to fight. He would have to remember it sometime. The memory was festering inside him; poisoning because he clamped down on it and was unable to handle it. If he didn't try to sort it out, it would destroy him. He _had _to remember that battle . . . and all that happened because of it.

The pounding rain on the roof merged into memory of a Zoid's roar, as he resigned himself to fate, and finally broke the barriers in his mind . . . . . .

xXx

. . . . . . the Blade Liger crashed into the ground, right blade snapping off completely and bouncing away. Van quickly pounded on the controls: _up, up, up! _With a groan of metal his Zoid go to its feet, steam and smoke billowing from the sizzling holes in its sides. One look at the status monitor was enough to convince Van that he was in trouble.

"Damn it," he growled, "how do I fight him like this?" He lifted his gaze to the glass cockpit. Standing in a haze of particle energy was the Geno Saurer. Its red eyes glared at him as it faced him down, poised on a knife's edge, waiting for its masters command. Laughter tinged with insane victory burst through the comm system.

"You've lost Van!" came Raven's hateful voice. "Look at your Zoid. It's been totaled by just one charged particle beam. We'll see what's left of it after two."

"I'm still standing, I can beat you yet!"

"No you won't," Raven snarled in fury. "You won't defeat me anymore. I'm going to kill you where you stand. There's no way I can lose!" The Geno Saurer unloaded a round of gunfire at him then. Van ducked and covered his head as the bullets cracked into the sturdy cockpit shield. "Not to a bastard like you!"

_Please, _Van thought, hearing the snapping of wires, _please, give me a way. I need to defeat him. I want to defeat him. Just give me a way and I'll win. I can do it. I WILL DO IT!_

A blast of light erupted from his left side, and slammed through the Liger's skin. Van shot upright in the seat as the whole Zoid began to glow. He'd seen this before! "Zeke?" he cried, watching as his destroyed blade reemerged. _Yes Van, _came another voice, not Zeke's. That was . . . "Fiona!" He seemed to sense, rather than see, her smile as the Blade Liger completed it's regeneration with a roar.

"What are you _doing! _Stop it!" Raven shrieked, but Van paid him no heed. He listened with wonder to the stream of thoughts and revelations running through his mind. Touching his hands to the controls, there was a surge of absolute clarity.

_Haven't you figured it out yet? It isn't the power of the Zoid that wins the battle. It's the power of the pilot; his power to want something and then take it! You are all you need to win._

A grin curled Van's lips. This was it. He had it now. The will to defeat Raven. And the power to do it.

A furious yell came from the comm system. "You stupid little boy! Do you think that regenerating will save you?" The footlocks clamped down into the ground, and the Geno Saurer lowered its head. Its jaws snapped open. Blue energy began to expand in its mouth. "I've had enough. Time to die Flyheight!"

Van, sensing the imminent fire, unleashed his shield. It expanded about him in a monochrome rainbow of protection. And then he rammed on the controls. The Blade Liger charged forward a few hundred metres, and then leapt into the air. _This blade survived last time, _he thought, aiming the left sword straight at the Geno Saurer's particle gun barrel. _Let its strength hold true. _His eyes fixed on the glowing ball of energy ahead of him. He heard Raven scream at Shadow for more power. There was a burst of vivid blue light. The concentrated beam shot forwards at an incredible speed; it was twice as large as the particle beams he'd faced before. It was enormous.

The Blade Liger crashed straight into the awesome beam. There was a terrific lurch as the Liger was pushed backwards. The cockpit shook and vibrated; but the shield was holding up. Clenching his teeth, Van forced the sticks forward with a yell. The Liger sped up again, and headed through the charged particle beam towards the Geno Saurer's head. Dazzled by the riot of colour and light, Van heard his comm. shriek into life again. "_That's impossible!_ This can't be happening! I can't lose to you! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, _I__ HATE YOU!_" Raven's insane threats descended into one long rage-filled scream as Van continued to close the distance between himself and Raven's Zoid. He was so close that he could see the plating on the dinosaur-type Zoid. _I'm really going to do it! I'm going to destroy Raven!_

He was only seconds away from impact. Every fiber of his being was tensed toward this moment. This was what he _wanted_, this was the completion of his goal. Suddenly, Raven's scream faltered. Van froze. Then came another scream that completely shattered his perceptions. Raven was screaming; screaming in agony and pain; a sound that twisted like a knife in Van's heart. _And he was screaming in fear. _His eyes widened in shock as the blade made contact with the gun barrel emerging from the Zoids jaws. The charged particle beam was forced back into itself and the barrel was obliterated as Van passed the level mark. A blinding explosion forced his eyes shut. Without seeing what he was doing the Liger dropped to the ground and came to a stop. Cracking his eyes open a little Van turned the Liger around. He was just in time to see the Geno Saurer shriek its death call and collapse into a raging mass of flames.

Van sat motionless in the cockpit, staring at the inferno.

"I . . . I did it. I beat him. And it's thanks to you and Zeke, Fiona!"

_No Van. You had the ability to do it by yourself all along. You didn't need our help. _He lifted his hands off the controls and looked at them. Suddenly he remembered.

"Hey, now we can go to Gaigolos! We can help the others and stop Prozen. Are you ready, Fiona?"

"Yes Van," came her voice from behind him. He spun around and looked at her sitting in the passenger seat, smiling as though she hadn't just materialized out of thin air. He grinned at her. "Let's go," she said happily.

And the Blade Liger turned away from the wreckage of its greatest foe, still burning with flame, and thundered away towards the Imperial capital. Van left the fresh memory of the battle behind as he focused on the task ahead. He shut it behind a door and locked it, throwing away the key.

xXx

The Imperial capital, and indeed all of Zi, had been saved. An immense celebration had taken place after the defeat of Prozen and the monstrous Death Saurer, but Van and Fiona hadn't been there. They'd felt the overwhelming gratitude of friends and civilians alike; they didn't need a ceremony to know people thanked them. So they had taken off before anyone could ask them to stay. They had traveled non-stop until the sun set behind the horizon, and the Blade Liger slowed to a halt. It was flat, featureless land, and usually would have been a dangerous place to make camp. But they didn't have to worry about that anymore: the war was over, at long last.

Fiona had set a fire to cook dinner, and she and Van had engaged in light-hearted conversation as Zeke added his growling comments. Eventually they had pulled out their sleeping bags and retired after a particularly trying day.

And here Van found himself, tossing and turning in his bed as he tried to sleep. His eyes stung with exhaustion, but he couldn't turn his brain off. Constantly images from the day flashed through his mind; pictures of the Death Saurer, Prozen gone mad, fighting alongside former foe Karl Shubaltz. He sighed in frustration and focused very hard on the image of the Blade Liger running. Holding onto that image, he slowly relaxed and felt himself slipping into sleep at last . . .

_He was standing on barren red earth. From where he stood he could see the Blade Liger running. The sky behind it was a stormy violet, shot through with silent lightning bolts. Te Liger stood out clearly with its blue metal sides and yellow claws. His eyes trailed ahead of the sprinting Liger to where it was headed. Right in front of him was the Geno Saurer, but it was not looking at him. It was staring at the approaching Blade Liger with vivid red eyes._

_An unseen breeze rustled his hair as he watched the distance close between the two Zoids. Red dust exploded around the Liger's feet as it ran. Keening, the Geno Saurer lowered its head until its whole body was straight as an arrow. Its jaws opened wide._

_Suddenly, Van was aware that someone was standing next to him. He froze. He couldn't' turn to see who it was; could only watch the Blade Liger and Geno Saurer._

_The Liger was close now, very close. Watching the Geno Saurer Van realized that it wasn't charging a particle beam. It was positioned that way, but nothing was happening. A terrific clap of thunder rent the air. And then the Blade Liger was upon the Geno Saurer._

_He could only watch, transfixed and horrified, as the Liger used its teeth and claws and blades to tear into the other Zoid. The Geno Saurer howled, but it was smashed to the ground. Roaring, the Liger began ripping into the chest. Metal and wires and glass flew through the air in a sickening parody of confetti._

_"Are you proud Van?" Finally he was able to whirl around and face the person next to him. It was Raven. Dressed in his piloting uniform, with his hair hanging in sharp locks around his face, he somehow looked younger. He was oddly colourless; toned only in greys and stark white for his skin. But his eyes were violently purple, like the sky above them. His slash-and-circle marking was vividly red, like the ground below. Van took a step backwards from the boy, his whole attention focused on him._

_"What?"_

_"Are you proud of defeating me?" Raven asked again in a flat voice, staring coldly into Van's eyes. The sounds of battle still shrieked around them, but Van wasn't listening to them._

_"Am I . . . proud . . .?" he whispered. Raven took a step forwards._

_"I wanted you to leave me alone Van." The Liger roared in bloodlust._

_"I know you did, I . . ."_

_"I told you to go away." Van stumbled back a bit as he took another step towards him. "I didn't kill those soldiers for you Van. I tried to make a point. But you didn't listen." His breath caught in his throat as Raven stabbed a finger into his chest. "You persisted. You were blind to what I was. Stupidity like yours needed punishment." Raven's voice dropped to a hiss. "But you came back. Again. And again. You were blinded by _AMBITION!_" The word cracked like a whip and Van stepped back again, gripping his chest where Raven's finger had lain: over his heart._

_"No," he said. Raven didn't move._

_"You kept coming back. You convinced me that you were a threat. A threat that needed disposing of. _You twisted me to your goal._"_

_"No!"_

_"You worked so hard to beat me that first time. And then I hated you. _And you came back. Again. _You wouldn't stop until you got me. Wouldn't stop until you cornered me like the animal I was. Wouldn't stop until you killed me. And look at where your ambition has lead you." He raised a thin arm and pointed to the side without taking his eyes off him. Van followed his gesture. And nearly screamed._

_Strewn around the earth were shattered pieces of the Geno Saurer. There was nothing left that even resembled a Zoid. Standing over the wreckage was the Blade Liger. Seeming to sense his gaze, it lifted its head to glare at him. Its teeth were stained dark red. Blood dripped from the blades. Its claws were encrusted with blood-soaked dirt. It threw its head back and roared, a horrifying feral sound. Van was shaking at the sight of it. _What kind of monster am I piloting?

_Fiona's words seemed to flit through the sky, borne by a lighting strike. _No Van. You had the ability to do it by yourself all along. You didn't need our help.

_Shaking even worse now, Van turned to Raven again. He smiled in perverse pleasure, slanted eyes glittering._

_"Yes Van. You've won." _

_And Raven burst into flames._

_And he screamed in agony and terror once more._

Van woke with a strangled gasp to find himself facedown on his pillow. He shot up onto his knees quickly, his sleeping bag slithering down his back. It was now dark night, with silvery moonlight illuminating the edges of everything like molten metal. He panted a bit, whether from the terror of the nightmare or suffocating himself in his pillow, he didn't know. He was shivering from the cold sweat on his skin.

"A nightmare," he whispered, trying to convince himself of that fact. "It was a nightmare." Cicadas chirped somewhere nearby, but not for long. It was very quiet. Try as he might, Van couldn't get himself to calm down, or stop trembling.

Something dropped onto his hand, braced against the ground. Then another, and another. He lifted his hands up off the pillow and rubbed them. They were wet. Still uncertain he gingerly touched his cheek with a finger. Dampness. Silent tears were running down his face, beyond his control. His palms were blurry as he looked at them in the moonlight.

"These are . . . but why am I . . . crying?" he breathed in the dark. There was a swift rustling of grass as a midnight breeze bent their stalks. And then, a whisper in his mind blew past.

_Because you are a murderer._

Van buried his face in his hands and shook with soundless sobs. . . . . . .

xXx

. . . . . . . Fiona lay awake listening to the beat of the rain. On her side, she could see the storm of drops streaming past the window. Sleep hadn't even occurred to her yet. She was lost in remembering. . . . . . .

xXx

. . . . . . . something woke her from a dreamless slumber. Fiona opened her eyes and saw the stars spread out above her like so many sprinkles. She merely watched them for a moment, until she heard a strange noise. She shifted quietly onto her side and looked over.

She could see Van, but he was not asleep either. He was kneeling on his bed, hunched over with his face in his hands. For a moment she was totally confused. But her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. She saw how he shook with sobs. Eventually, she could hear him too. Quick, gasping cries without sound, only air. He was crying almost silently in the middle of the night, all alone.

All she could do was watch as Van was wracked with tears. She wanted so badly to go and comfort; ask him what was wrong. But she couldn't. Somehow, she knew that she couldn't help him now. She had to let him cry. She hated herself for feeling this way, but accepted her instincts. Van needed to do this alone. For now.

So she watched him through the night, until the time came where she couldn't stay awake no matter how hard she tried. And she slept.

xXx

Daylight, muted and grey, crept over her eyes. Blinking and squinting, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust before she could make out where she was. As she focused on the empty sleeping bag beside her, the memory of last night resurfaced in her mind. Fiona sat up on the hard ground, still clutching her bag around her; it was a cool morning. She glanced around anxiously, looking for Van. A moment later she had spotted him, squatting next to a newly stoked fire and levering a pot out of the flames. Zeke was nearby, lying next to the fire with both eyes fixed on his partner.

Tossing her sleeping bag aside, Fiona got up and walked over to the campfire. The organoid lifted his head and rumbled a greeting. Van glanced up in surprise, having been entirely focused on what he was doing. "Hey," he said, seeming to be at a loss for anything else to say. He didn't seem wholly _there_, so to speak. "Hey," she said in return. They looked at each other for a while; Fiona from above, Van from below. Finally he stirred and turned back to the steaming pot which was full of porridge.

"I've nearly finished breakfast. Hold on a minute and I'll get you some." Nodding, she went over to the old log they had used as a seat the night before and settled herself on it. She watched Van's back as he filled two bowls, and then offered her one and sat beside her to eat. Taking a mouthful, Fiona glanced across at him as he ate. A quick look like before wouldn't have shown her that anything was wrong. But she knew Van better than even herself, and she could see things that others could not. It was obvious he'd had almost no sleep. His skin was pale, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. And somehow she felt a skittishness underneath his forced calm. Whatever had caused him to cry during the night hadn't left him. He had been deeply disturbed down to his core.

They ate in silence. Fiona finished her meal before Van did. And she decided to ask him. "Van . . ." she started. His body tensed beside her, and pausing for a moment he looked at her.

"Yes?" But she could see his eyes and how they pleaded with her. It was almost as if she could hear his unspoken plea. _Please don't ask me. I won't be able to handle it. I can barely hold it together. Don't ask me . . . _She swallowed and cast about for a feasible question to ask.

"Where are we heading?" His relief and guilt were almost tangible as he looked back to his bowl.

"I thought that we might head back home to my village. Maria must be worried sick about us. We've been gone a long time, and what with the war and all."

Fiona suddenly caught Zeke's eye and they shared a look. _He knows something's wrong as well. _When she spoke again she didn't break contact with the organoid's crimson eyes; much the same as her own. "I think that would be good, Van."

xXx

All the hopes that Fiona had that Van would return to normal slowly faded away. If anything, he was only getting worse. Their daylong stints across the desert were spent without conversation. She could only watch in despair as Van's eating and sleeping habits became erratic and small in amount. Often he would gain the look of someone who had drifted off and left his body behind, and seemed to see things that she didn't. Both she and Zeke began to watch him closely, making sure that he ate at least once and slept a bit each day. Still, the energetic and spirited person Van used to be faded into grey.

Seventeen days after they had left the capital, they came to a fairly large town called Windsward. It was large enough to have an inn, and they booked a room; Fiona gratefully, Van blankly. They left Zeke to stay with the Liger in the keeping lot, as unfortunately the mistress of the inn would not allow the organoid inside.

Fiona entered their small room with Van behind her. It was modestly furnished, with out simple rugs and curtains to add warmth to the honey-coloured floorboards and whitewashed walls. There were two single beds against the wall, and a cupboard and dresser for clothes. Another doorway led to the bathroom. Fiona went and dropped her travel bag into one of the chairs circling a bare table as she looked out the window. Night had almost fallen, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. The larger of Zi's moons had risen above the horizon and shed its full light on the town.

Van had entered after her and deposited his bag next to one of the beds. He now sat on the bed and gazed around without any real interest. Sitting at the table, Fiona picked up the book there and leafed through it. "Oh, they have a restaurant downstairs, Van. It'll be nice to get some properly cooked meals huh?" Van didn't answer, but asked a question of his own.

"How long to you think we'll stay here?"

"A couple of days would be nice. We need a rest."

Silence. Then, "Do we have to stay that long?"

Fiona looked up at Van. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands grasping the covers, head down and staring at the floorboards. It was the look of someone desperate to flee.

"But . . . why Van? Why don't you want to stay?"

"I don't want to stay still."

"What do you mean?" Fiona got up from the table and went to stand in front of him. Van didn't look up.

"I don't . . . standing still means I'm not occupied. And it means I have to think. I don't want to think anymore." His eyes were remote and shuttered; but she could see the pain and torment hiding behind them.

"Oh, Van," she said in despair, sitting down next to him on the bed and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I can't take it anymore. You have to tell me what's wrong! Please!" She buried her head in his shoulder, holding him tight. Underneath her grip, she felt him freeze in response to her touch.

"I . . ."

"Please?" she whispered.

"I can't," he murmured, his breath blowing against her hair. "I can't tell you." Fiona didn't move or let go of him.

"Why?" The tension coiled in Van's body held firm for a few more moments; but then he seemed to dissolve and sink. She felt him reach up and clasp onto her, accepting and returning the hug she was giving him. It was the first display of emotion he'd shown in a long while, since the day that the Death Saurer had been destroyed, and Raven had been defeated.

_Raven! _She realized then what should have been obvious. At the same that she figured it out, Van spoke to her, voice muffled. "I just can't Fiona. Not now . . . not yet . . ." his voice was breaking up, so she hushed him and simply allowed him to hug her. He seemed to need her more then than he had ever done; needed to confirm the presence of a person beside him, confirm his existence.

"Alright, Van . . . you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He squeezed her gently.

"Thank you."

That night, Fiona went down to the restaurant and ordered take-away food. She and Van ate in their room, in a comfortable silence they hadn't enjoyed in weeks.

That night, they pushed the two single beds together and lay back-to-back, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies; knowing that the other was there, and being glad.

That night, they both slept longer than they had in days. . . . . . . .

xXx

. . . . . . . . . It had been a long time since Van had slept that well. He remembered his turmoil in those first few agonizing days, and then the relief of knowing Fiona didn't care what was going on. She still trusted and loved him for who he was. Afterwards, he had managed to steadily forget his panic at murdering Raven. By the time they had reached home, he was, as far as most people could tell, 'normal'. His induction into the Republican Army, and then the Guardian Force, had given him a sense of purpose again. And another method for keeping the memories at bay.

_But now . . ._

He shivered slightly under the sheets, though it was not cold, oblivious to the continuing storm outside. Raven had come back. And so had the memories. He could no longer pretend they didn't exist, because living proof had rampaged to a halt in front of him. And yet, he wondered why he still felt this way. It wasn't as if Raven was dead. That was the whole reason he had suffered and begun to believe he was a killer. Shouldn't he be relieved of that? What else . . .

_Raven stared down at his hands with a blank expression, as though he didn't understand. Then he looked up, straight at Van. He felt himself go numb and almost lost himself in the emptiness of those eyes again . . ._

There it was. He felt himself go cold all over as the knowledge of it sank in with renewed bitterness. He was still a murderer. He had destroyed a Zoid today without considering if there was a pilot inside. He had almost caused Thomas' death. And though Raven was alive, Van had killed him too. He had killed his mind and heart.

Burying his face in the pillow he clutched to himself, Van cried again. He shed tears that would be absorbed into the fabric without a trace. The blankets and sheets could not ward off the coldness he felt in his heart.

The rain thundered overhead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes: whimper That took so long. Let's count . . . 15 pages in Word . . . 12,000+ words. But it was worth it.

The song was added at the start because I thought it fitted quite well with the theme of this chapter.

Now that I've finished Van's angst road trip, I can move onto the other characters. puts Van in a drawer labeled "Completed Angst"

I feel the need to clarify that I'm not going for a Van/Fiona romance. I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone anything about the romance but . . . I just really wanted to point out that my idea behind Van and Fiona's relationship is a very deep friendship. Kind of like Frodo and Sam's from LotR. Seeing as it was also a flashback, they were too young to think of love in that way.

Poor Thomas. He's so . . . well, I'll tell you later. pats Thomas

Yes, that was the money shot when Van was talking about pitying Raven. That was where the title came from.

The next chapter is going to be so much fun. Well, I'll have fun writing it. It's going to be a massive display of violence and guns and blood and stuff. Might not sound like fun to you, but hey, you don't have to read it. I'll be getting into Raven's development a lot more over the next few chapters; this chapter was primarily Van's story. However, like I said, I'm done with him. Onto the blackbird we all love. Oh, and some Thomas too. See you space cowboys.

Vappa

EDIT 28/04/05 – Edited to remove song lyrics, as per new TOS. Same with chapter 4.


	6. Marking Time, Waiting For Death

Yeah, I took a while on this one, and it's not big at all. It's not even the full chapter I intended. But more on that down the bottom. For now, here's pseudo-chapter 6.

--------------------------

I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

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_Six: Marking Time, Waiting For Death_

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               A large-scale map appeared on the screen. Noting the various towns and bases on it quickly, he tapped on the keyboard. A square focused onscreen and enlarged a section. There were roughly nine army bases scattered around this part of the landscape. He saw the invisible pattern that he had devised. Tapping again, the map zoomed to show a singular Imperial base and the flat terrain surrounding it. At the touch of a button a panel of scrolling text appeared showed next to the birds' eye image of the base.

               As he was reading the statistics, he heard someone approaching from behind him. He didn't turn around; merely clasped his hands behind his back and waited. The footsteps stopped at a respectable distance.

"Commander Hiltz?" Hiltz nodded once, and the man continued. "The battle went as planned. At 1100 hours our forces attack the area within the Redstone base's control. As expected, Flyheight and Schubaltz of the Guardian Force challenged our forces, and Imperial backup arrived shortly after at 11:25. At 11:30 our forces pulled back as instructed and lost the Imperials, returning to base. Some of our number were lost during the battle, and some units will need repairs . . ."

"I don't care much for that information." Hiltz let the silence lengthen in order to make the soldier uncomfortable. Sure enough, there was the sound of shifting feet. Just as he judged the man to speak again, he said, "Is the B unit prepared?"

"Uh, yes sir. They received their final orders from Miss Reese this morning at 0500, and are now in the process of practicing their strategy. They will depart at 2330, as you know. No problems have been reported."

Hiltz allowed a smile to curl his lips at the pleasure of it all.

"Good."

~*~

Breakfast was a miserable affair.

The rain from the night before had utterly soaked the base, leaving everything much darker than usual. Gritty sand clung to everything and was a dreadful nuisance to beat off. The mood was not improved by the sheet-metal sky; the rain may have stopped but the clouds still cast their gloom over the base.

Atmosphere was generally low in the meal hall this morning. The fact that the bulk of Hiltz's forces had eluded capture was making everyone gloomy, and the wonder of a desert storm had worn off to be replaced by indifference.

Sitting next to Fiona at the end of one of the long tables, Van swirled his cereal around in the bowl slowly. If the ordinary soldiers looked morose, he must look absolutely depressed. It wasn't so much that he was terribly sad. Quite the contrary. He was feeling less strained and pressured than he had in days. He wasn't exactly happy though. And sleep was still avoiding him like a five-year-old child playing hide and seek. Every so often he would catch it, only to have to go looking for it again.

Fighting back the hundredth yawn of the day, he took another mouthful of his breakfast. Fiona looked over at him with a half-smile.

"Get any sleep last night?"

"Umpf," he mumbled, resting his chin in his palm, still swirling the cereal.

"You look better today."

"Oh please. Don't try to kid me Fiona. I _did _look in the mirror this morning." She grinned at him.

"Well you wouldn't be attempting jokes if you weren't even a _little _bit better."

"Who said it was a joke? I look like death without the warmed-up part." Turning back to her breakfast, he could have sworn he heard her laugh. _All right then miss big shot. _"You don't look so hot yourself, you know."

"What?!" she cried, but Van had quickly shoved his spoon in his mouth and was innocently staring at the ceiling. He could hear her muttering next to him and it almost made him smile. _It's true though. Her hair is messy today. _

He was slightly bemused at how he was thinking today. The guilt and fear of his murderous actions still hung over him like a dark cloud, but it seemed the having spoken to Fiona about it had allowed him to partially return to 'normal'. And opening the memories of Raven had been painful, yes, but now that he'd acknowledged them for what they were they didn't haunt him in an obscure fashion. In a way, it was a relief to know exactly how he felt, rather than living with the torment of clamping down and ignoring his emotions. It still hurt, deep inside. He had the feeling it always would. But perhaps by getting to know the darker part of himself he would one day resolve it.

"So, what kinds of repairs need to be made to the Liger?" Fiona asked moodily. Van poured himself some coffee as a time staller to get his thoughts in order. 

"Not many, really. The Liger wasn't damaged too badly. It's mainly scorches and tears on the outer armour, so those'll be easy enough to replace. There are a couple of burnt out fuses on the left blade connection. I'll need to find some spares. Beyond that there's nothing seriously wrong with it."

"What about the Di Bison?" she asked, looking both wary and concerned at voicing the question. Van sighed a bit, though not out of annoyance. It was only fair to tell her the full details. The version he'd told her last night was hardly self-explanatory.

"Well . . . from what I saw, it wasn't too good. You know how I said that I knocked aside a Gunsniper's shot?" She nodded. "I _did _knock it away, but it still hit a part of the Di Bison. About a third on the right side was melted and burned through. It had already been shot down, so the rest of it is heavily damaged as well. It's . . . pretty wrecked." Fiona looked down at her mostly empty plate.

"I can't imagine how it must feel for Thomas. He loves his Zoid."

"I know." They both stared out the window at the choked-up sky. The meal hall always had people in it; many soldiers preferred to spend their breaks here, where there was always coffee and biscuits, no matter what time of day it was. 

"I hope things get better for us," she said, obviously including Thomas in her words. Draining the last of his coffee, Van pushed back his chair and stood up. He turned to the Ancient Zoidian.

"So do I."

~*~

Walking down the main corridor, Van had to stifle another yawn as he headed back to his room. Not being on active duty meant that he could do pretty much as he wanted, and right now he wanted to sleep. _Maybe I could have a nap or something, _he thought idly. _It would be typical if I find it easier to sleep during the day, when I hardly get the time to. _He reached his room and twisted the handle. _Maybe I should sign up for night shifts._

His room was much the same as it had been the day before: messy. Van had never been a tidy person, and didn't really intend to change his habits now. The bed sheets were falling off the side of the bed, and parts of his Guardian Force uniform were strewn around the floor. He never bothered to wear it when he was between missions and staying for longer than a night at any given place. At the moment he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and khaki pants; what he liked to think of as his "fashionable" clothes.

Fiona had laughed at him when he told her that once, and went on to say that he wouldn't know fashion if it hit him in the head.

In any case, he'd been wearing that shirt since he'd fallen asleep in it the night before, and just couldn't be bothered changing. For lack of anything better to do, he started picking up the pieces of his uniform. He then tossed them onto the desk. _There. Clean. _

Only then did he see the piece of paper lying on the desk, underneath his clothes. He picked it up and saw that it had his name on one side, and a message on the other.

He went over to the bed, note in hand, and flopped down on his back. Turning it over, he read what it said:

_Van,_

_Karl wants a report from you and me regarding the battle yesterday. 10:30am in the communications room._

_Thomas_

Continuing to stare at the note, he sighed. He could hardly remember the particulars of that battle. Normally he could detail every part of a mission, but this one had the quality of a half-remembered bad dream that he knew was actually real. Still, he would have to go and debrief. It was Karl who had received the tip-off in the first place and sent them there. Plus, it was procedure.

He read it again. Less than twenty words, but it spoke a great deal to him. At some point, Thomas had received orders. He'd known that Van would need to be informed. He would have considered various ways of doing this, and settled on a note. Then he would have written it. And then he'd come to his room, when Van himself was not in it, and left it on his desk.

So many steps taken to end up with a small note in his hand.

The bed squeaked as he jumped off it. Better make himself presentable. He swayed a bit as he made his way into the bathroom. _Ugh, I'm so tired. I'd better sleep tonight or . . . well, I'd just better. _Turning on the light, he was instantly confronted with a mirror. The Van that stared back at him from the reflection looked like a haunted insomniac. His skin was a very unappealing shade of white and deep shadows underlined his eyes. Spikes of black hair stuck up everywhere, as having neglected to take out his ponytail the night before had messed it around. He groaned at himself.

"Good grief," he muttered, crossing to the sink. He dashed his face with cold water a few times. It helped . . . a bit. After a short fight to free his hair band he grabbed his brush. _Maybe I should drop into the hospital wing and ask for a sleeping pill. Or a great big tranquilizer. _Briefly the thought of Raven flashed across his mind, which stomped on all notions of going over there. He wasn't ready for _that_ scenario yet. Retying his ponytail, he looked in the mirror again. _Okay, at least I'm not scruffy anymore. _Van toyed with the idea of getting changed into his uniform, but decided against it. Karl most likely wouldn't care. And he really could not be bothered. Besides, that top was a pain in the ass to get on.

Checking his watch, Van decided to head over there now. No doubt Thomas would already be there, probably in full uniform. He seriously wondered if Thomas owned any other clothes. He also had the idea of seeing how Thomas was. Piecing together separate things, he'd begun to have a nagging feeling in the back of his head about the Imperial Guardian.

He picked up the note and slid it into his pocket. Exiting the room, he shut the door behind him and made his way down the corridor.

It was 10:27 when he arrived in the communications center. As expected, Thomas was sitting at one of the terminals, an untouched cup of coffee beside him. He appeared to be looking at a monitor, but Van could tell by the way he looked that he was staring off into space. This changed however when he made his way over and sat down next to him. Thomas stirred and focused on him, face unreadable. That was normal though, so Van couldn't make anything of it.

"You got my message?" Thomas asked.

"Yeah. I came right away," he said, feeling awkward. All he could think about was his fight with Thomas the day before. He knew that he'd hoped to apologize to Thomas as soon as he saw him, but he just couldn't frame a response properly. The flat way Thomas was looking at him rejected most ideas of conversation; he just wasn't willing, it seemed. 

"That's good. I suppose I'll get Karl on the line." Van noticed then that he was still wearing the bandage around his head. It made him wince as he agreed, and turned to face the monitor between them. Thomas punched in a variety of codes, and a few moments later the image of Major Karl Schubaltz appeared on-screen. Both Van and Thomas saluted.

"Good morning, Major." Karl saluted in turn.

"Morning, Lieutenants. Do you have a report for me?" As the lesser officer, Van gestured for Thomas to take the lead. He nodded slightly, then started to speak.

"Yes. Hiltz's army arrived just as expected. Van and myself took the lead ahead of the Imperial troops. We estimate a total of fifty-four Zoid hits between us. When the rest of the troops arrived, Hiltz's army fell into retreat. Tracking of them was lost about a hundred kilometers from base."

Karl nodded, and Van saw him glance sideways at Thomas, and he knew he must have been looking at the bandage. "Any casualties?"

"None on our side. A couple of Zoids sustained major damage, and others moderate and minor damage."

"That's good. Lieutenant Flyheight, would you say the outcome of this mission was acceptable?"

_Oh God, what a question. _"Fairly acceptable, sir. A few misjudgments on my behalf and the escape of Hiltz's force would be the only things not satisfactory."

"I see. Van, would you mind if I speak honestly with you?"

"Uh, yes sir?"

"You look terrible." He looked like he was trying his best not to crack a smile, and Van could only grin sheepishly in return.

"Thanks a lot, Karl."

"Get some rest. You don't have any missions scheduled for this week. Take care. You too, Thomas." Ending his call, Karl's image was replaced with 'TRANSMISSION TERMINATED'. Van drummed his fingers a little, contemplating the interaction between the two brothers. He didn't see them together often enough to know a lot about it, but he definitely got the feeling that Karl was always watching Thomas when he was nearby, whether it was intentional or not. He wondered how deep the protection bond went with the older Schubaltz.

Suddenly Thomas pushed away from the station and stood up. Van glanced up in surprise. He looked back down at him, fathomless. "I'll see you later, I suppose." The Imperial turned to leave.

"Wait, Thomas," Van said, then paused as he stopped but didn't turn around. He still couldn't do it. "What do you plan to do?" They were both still, waiting for the answer. Thomas tilted his head to the side; almost as though to face him. But he didn't. His response was quiet.

"I don't know." And then he continued to the door and left. On his own now, Van turned to the still-full cup of coffee on the table beside him. He touched the side. It had gone cold.

This world was so illogical. The normal men lived happy, but featureless lives. Nobody would remember them when they were gone. And the gifted? They lived in a state of perpetual question. It didn't matter how good they were at piloting a Zoid. It didn't matter how skilled they were with technology. It didn't matter if they could destroy an entire army with their own two hands, and nor did it matter if they came from a time long past. Their lives were governed by that one defining factor: their talent. And that "talent" could make or break them, depending on their lives and themselves.

Van had become a killer in his desire to do good.

Fiona lived everyday knowing she was a remnant of a dead people.

Raven had lost the only thing he had; his will to destroy.

And Thomas . . .

Van picked up the cup and swallowed the stone-cold coffee in one gulp, shivering as it spread through him. Thomas was a mystery that danced just beyond revelation. He felt the time was coming when Thomas would fail to hold together. Just like he had failed. And he didn't want Thomas to have to be alone when he needed friends the most.

~*~

The day passed without event. With nothing to do, most soldiers had taken to repairs, even if they had no Zoids themselves. The Blade Liger was re-armored; its broken fuses were replaced. Safety scans were run on the Di Bison's core; nothing else could be done for now. The hospital wing was kept busy with the removal of stitches and bandages acquired the day before. One of its' patients passed the time in a haze, spending long periods gazing at his wounded palm. 

As the sun set, the last of the stubborn clouds drifted away. Crimson skies gave way to clear diamond evening.

It was going to be a beautiful night.

~*~

Twin sickle moons hung in the ebony Zi sky. The light they shed was faint and insignificant. To little to see the darting shadows assemble near the wire fence of the Imperial base.

Silent and swift as ghosts, forms of men gathered together in the wan moonlight. They spoke no words. As the group converged, one stood towards the front. Hundreds of eyes focused on the man. All were still, waiting. At last, the man lifted his hands and gave a variety of signals. Instantly they reacted. The group rustled and reformed into several units. The man signaled again, then pointed at his wrist. Nodding, the leader of one group darted forward, his men behind him. Faint, muffled snaps were heard as the fencing was cut.

Wavering shadows slipped into the base, one after another. They went left, right, straight. They swarmed in like an unknown virus.

It was 12:40am.

--------------------------

Notes: Like I said, this was originally part of a much larger chapter. However, it's been taking me so long to write the second half that I decided to cut it at this point and make it into two chapters. I don't like doing this, because I had it planned so rigidly, but I figured someone out there must be waiting for another chapter, so here it is. 

This is also a helluva lot shorter than the last chapter. I hope nobody minds. 

I've recently been inspired to work on my Golden Sun fic again, so this one may get second priority for a while. It'll still be done: just not immediately.

I have exams starting the 30th, so most likely I won't get anything done until the holidays come again. That's like . . . June. So I apologize in advance if I don't get anything out before then.

And finally . . . PLEASE REVIEW! It makes me happy, which makes me write. I don't like putting "R/R" in the summary because it's tacky, but I'd really love some reviews. Please?

Arigatou,

- Vappa


	7. Change Of Atmosphere

Yay, I'm heeeeeere! *Is rained on by flying projectiles* Ow. Yes, yes, I know. I promised myself to do a chapter per month, and I didn't. Well I wasn't too late this time, was I? *Dodges a keyboard* All right fine, I'll try harder for chapter 8. Now, as I said last chapter, this was originally the second half of chapter 6. So when you're reading it, keep that in mind. 

THIS is the chapter, boys and girls. The chapter where stuff ACTUALLY HAPPENS! And Raven ACTUALLY DOES SOMETHING! Yay! In regards to that . . .

WARNING: this chapter contains copious amounts of violence, guns, blood, people getting shot, and a little bit of swearing. If that kinda stuff isn't your thing, then leave. I'm not going to be responsible. Anyway, I had quite a ball writing this, as I've been waiting to do it for quite a while. Enjoy!

I don't own Zoids. I just own all my plot devices, like the guns and invading army :D

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I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

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_Seven: Change Of Atmosphere_

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Raven couldn't sleep. He had slept in the day, on and off. There had been little else to do. The nurses had come and gone; bringing food, water, medication. They informed him that he was still sick, though getting marginally better, but would not improve faster unless he ate more. But he couldn't seem to do it. Eating made him feel nauseous and strange. He was terribly weak; he knew that. It must have been why he slept so much.

But tonight he couldn't sleep. Lying on his side, he gazed numbly out the window. His left hand stroked the bandages on his right. Throughout the day, he'd had nothing else to focus on. The material was soft and indistinct in the moonlight. There was a wound underneath there. At the edge of his memory he recalled looking at it one night. The skin had been red and raw, caving inwards a bit from savage tissue loss. He couldn't feel. His palm was dead to him; blank. Unless he looked at it, it was as though the surface of his hand didn't exist.

Such an awful scar, and he couldn't remember where he'd obtained it. It could have been there for days, or weeks, or months. Even years. But he didn't know. Everything was so foreign, and yet it wasn't at the same time. It was perpetual deja-vu. He would see something for the first time, and his mind would recall a fact; a name; a meaning. Never anything deeper than that. No personal feelings, no memories, no connections. For most things at least.

Turning onto his back, Raven ran through the objects and people that had disturbed the fog. The thing he felt closest to, the nearest he came to connection was the black organoid, Shadow. He had always been near, though not always in sight.

Army bases had always drawn him. Whether it was because of forgotten agendas or because he had nowhere else to go, he headed towards them. The destruction he wrought there called to him as well: a call that wound itself into a dark harmony within him. It was both pleasure and pain to recall such harmony.

People. Only two people seemed to stand out to him from the sea of faceless others. The girl, Fiona Alisi Linette. She had taken him across the desert to this new place. She had spoken to him, though he couldn't recall her words. There wasn't any hostility in her character or voice.

And then there was the other. Van Flyheight. He had seen him once and once only. But the reaction he had gone through was enough to convince him that this person was a vital part of who he used to be. That night in the Republican base was vivid in his mind. The part that kept reappearing was this Flyheight's attack on him in the Blade Liger Zoid, with blades extended. It had a fractured connection with the other memory. The one he was afraid of. The one he couldn't bring himself to remember yet.

The moons were not to be seen through his window, which left the room considerably dark. Having adapted to the blackness hours ago Raven could make out the equipment and door.

And, facing the door as he was, he saw the flash of shadow through the viewing window.

Instantly he froze. The instinctual part of him, dormant for so many days, opened up with a rapid fire of suggestions and prompts. He remained fixated on the door for a few minutes, not moving. The shadow didn't pass again. Silence pressed in around him eerily. But he did not doubt that he had seen something pass the window. Or someone.

Then Raven heard the faintest sound from the hallway. It wasn't even loud enough to be able to tell what it was. But it was enough.

Slithering out from under the sheets, he felt his bare feet come into contact with the cool floor. He waited a moment, allowing himself to regain his sense of balance upon solid ground. Then he silently padded to the door. Ducking down he kept his head underneath the viewing window. He looked at the door handle. It was the lever kind. _Quiet, but be wary of letting it spring back afterwards,_ offered his subconscious. He accepted the information without question. He hardly knew what he was doing, but he was just compelled to do it. 

Grasping the handle with his uninjured hand, Raven slowly turned it. Very slowly. He couldn't afford to make a sound. With the handle turned all the way he moved it back. The catch made no click as it slid past the door frame. He halted the door when it was open only a thumb's width. The slice of corridor he could see was dark, and still.

It was no good. He'd have to go out further. Gulping a breath, he eased the door open wide enough to slide through. He was tense with anxiety from what he was doing. Being discovered at this point by the enemy would be fatal. His breath caught. _Enemy?_

Shutting the door behind him, he kept his back to the wall as he squinted down the right stretch of the corridor. Nothing, just the dark corner a few hundred metres away leading into the next hall. Down the left side of the corridor it ended in a T-intersection, branching off both ways. He could not see anything down that way either. For some reason, he could not believe that he had imagined it. His whole being seemed to know otherwise. Beyond doubt. He remained fixated on the left end of the hall. It was well that he did. Another shadow started past at the end, running down the adjacent corridor. This time, it was obvious: the shadow was human.

Everything suddenly snapped into place for him then. No lights. No nurses on ward duty. No guards. Shadows in the dark.

He had to get out of there. 

Rather than risk discovery down the way the shadow had gone, Raven started to move quietly down the right side of the corridor, keeping close to the wall. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was maybe five steps away from his room when he heard it. A faint scuff of a shoe coming to a stop. From behind him. 

He snapped and started to run down the hall, throwing all caution to the winds. _Run, run, run, RUN! _his mind was screaming at him and he listened. The world seemed to shut off and consist only of blind escape. He couldn't hear anything. But he did feel something hard and small slam into his right leg. Stumbling a bit, he forced himself to keep running.

The second bullet, however, could not be ignored. He felt it blast into his body, bringing with it incredible flaring pain. The first wound responded then, shooting white hot daggers through his leg. The world rushed back to his senses. Raven crashed into the ground with a shriek. Blinding agony filled his head, coursing outwards from the two shots in him.

Somehow, through all the pain, his instincts reawoke in full force. They clamped down on him instantly, withdrawing all of his control. His body froze up; movement ceased. Aware of his frantically beating heart, Raven halted his breathing. A long forgotten technique came into play and his heart rate steadily slowed. He didn't know how he was doing it, or why, and he didn't care. The burn from the bullet wounds was tearing him to pieces mentally. It was only through his subconscious force of will that he didn't start screaming and writhing on the ground.

Distantly he was aware of footsteps coming towards him, light and almost inaudible. He couldn't see who it was as his eyes were shut, but it was obvious to him anyway. The invader who had gunned him down. This moment of rational thinking was smothered again by renewed waves of traumatized hurt. Detached, the instincts held his state of stillness and observed.

A soft squeak was rubber-edged shoes was all that alerted him to the soldiers' presence beside him. He felt rather than saw the person drop down next to him, close enough to smell the sharp gunpowder scent mixed with a faint twinge of tobacco smoke. It took a tremendous amount of restraint not to flinch when two fingers pressed into his neck. They were there only a second before being taken away. Dimly he registered that his pulse was now painfully slow.

The person shifted. Suddenly he was alone as the unknown person darted away, padding quickly down the corridor. And then there was silence.

Raven waited only a few moments for safety's sake. Unable to last any longer in this state, he regained control of himself. With the instincts gone, all that was left was the pain. He gasped for air in an attempt to regain breathing and a faster heart rate. But it was more reflexive than anything as he twisted on the cold lino floor, trying in vain to get the agony to go away. His leg was burning and any feeling below the thigh was lost to him. The other wound was far worse in the degree of pain it inflicted upon him. The bullet had torn through his left side, leaving both his back and front severely injured. He couldn't even think straight. All he could do was clutch at his chest and leg as he desperately fought to keep breathing and keep quiet. There was no telling when another invader might show up. 

An undeterminable period of time passed before Raven managed to have a coherent thought. _Hide_. But where? Lying on his back, he opened his eyes again. Through the flashes of black and red he could make out what looked like a door behind his head. Panting, he shut his eyes again and managed to flip over onto his stomach. The impact sent shockwaves of pain through him, and he let out a clipped yelp. Looking up, he saw with something akin to relief that the door was ajar; he never would have been able to stand and open it.

He began the arduous task of dragging himself into the room. It was excruciating. Using his arms and hands, he had to pull his body forwards bit by bit. Every movement in this way sent blinding pain through both his leg and chest. In distress his breathing got shorter and faster, and yet he couldn't seem to get enough air. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of being found and shot again.

In the dark Raven's fingertips came into contact with the doorframe. Wrapping both hands around it, he took half a second to brace himself; then he heaved and managed to pull himself halfway into the dark room. Shaking and almost crying, he kicked up his right leg and pushed against the frame. Now fully inside the doorway, Raven bit down into his fist to stop himself from screaming in pain. This was the best he could do. Getting himself out of the corridor was as close to safe as he was able to manage. Opening his eyes again, he could make out the faint light from the corridor through the open door. He had to shut it. Though he was utterly drained, he moved his right leg again and just managed to push his foot against it. It swung back towards the frame, and stopped just short of shut, leaving a sliver of a gap.

He sobbed. It was hopeless. He was going to die in this little room; a storeroom with only a set of shelves against the back wall with spare linen. Then he realized that he could still see, despite the fact that the door was practically closed. A dim red glow illuminated the room. Fighting fresh waves of hurt he twisted to look up at the wall adjacent to the door. About waist-height off the floor was a red light, seemingly for emergencies. And next to that was a large raised button. He knew what that was. _An alarm trigger,_ whispered his mind as he tried to focus on it. Still gasping for air, he felt an irrepressible urge to activate it. It was the only thing that he could think of aside from the suffocating pain splintering his head. Without pausing for thought, he slowly slithered across the floor towards the button. He could hardly breathe anymore. Hand brushing against the wall, he drew it back and planted both on the floor. Fighting nausea and pain he managed to push off the ground with his arms, and bring his uninjured leg up to kneel on. He was shaking so badly that he was in danger of collapse. Keeping his flickering sights on the button Raven painfully reached up towards it. His chest was screaming in agony as he strained. Finally, he saw his fingers touch the button, and he threw as much weight into it as possible. It locked in.

He couldn't breathe. Sliding rapidly back to the floor, he gasped for air. But it wasn't working. He lay on his side, hurting and fading. He could feel the shortness of breath and pain culminating in his mind. He couldn't breathe. _Shadow . . . where are you?_

Darkness slammed down on him. 

~*~

"I don't understand a word of this," Van muttered aloud. He flipped the page idly, seeing if the next one made any more sense than the last.

_When trying to learn the rune language, it is best to remember that this isn't like our language. Our language is constructed from twenty-six letters and ten numerals; runic language was originally conceived as and derived from communication through pictures, or pictographs. As such, each symbol does not represent a part of a word: it is the word. However, there are some exceptions to this rule in Ancient Zoidian form . . ._

He slammed the book shut. "I give up." He had no idea why he'd borrowed this book from Fiona in the first place. Sure, he'd _wanted _a book to read that might help him sleep, but why had he gone and picked "A New Age Guide to Runic Zoidian Language" of all things? Perhaps he'd thought it would bore him to sleep.

Well, it had almost succeeded. Sighing, he pushed away from the desk and got up. Time to at least try and get some rest.

He didn't know which happened first; the sudden ringing of an alarm or his door bursting open. Perhaps they happened simultaneously. Whatever the case, it was sheer luck that saved him from death.

As the alarm blared out, Van saw the door swing wide open. The desk was behind it. Fear seized him and propelled him into action. He darted out from behind the door and came face to face with a man he'd never seen before. Not allowing any time for thought Van drew his fist back and swung it around towards the man's face. In surprise the man had raised a gun but Van hit first. However, he was a millisecond too slow. His fist connected at the exact same moment the gun went off.

Van howled in pain and was completely oblivious to the man crumpling to the floor. His entire attention was on his arm. The bullet had shot right through his upper arm and was causing agony like he'd never believed possible. With shaking fingers he clamped over the wound in an attempt to stem the blood. He fell back against the wall and merely shivered with pain for a couple of minutes.

Though the pain had lessened none, he knew he had to move. The alarm was still ringing, loud and frightening, and there was no telling how many other intruders there might be. Gritting his teeth, he stumbled over to the desk and picked up a pair of scissors. He began clumsily tearing his bed sheets into strips with the wrong hand, his right arm still burning and twitching uncontrollably. After he'd cut enough strips Van made a haphazard bandaging attempt around the wound. It was extraordinarily difficult, having to use only his left hand and teeth to pull it together. The sheets were already soaked red but it would have to do.

He glanced at the far wall by accident. A hole had been punched through it by the bullet. He blanched at the sight and quickly looked away. Bending down he grabbed the man's rifle off the floor where it had fallen and ran out the door.

The echoes of his feet rang strangely with the alarm as he pelted down one corridor after another. Only one thing was on his mind, and that was to find both Fiona and Thomas to make sure they were all right. He skidded round a corner to be confronted with an awful sight. Bodies were strewn around the corridor with wild abandon; all of them Imperials. Gulping, Van only slowed enough to pick his way through and then kept running. There had been too much blood to hope any were alive.

Distantly, he heard what sounded like an explosion from another part of the base. The lights flickered alarmingly and almost went out, but snapped back on as the rumble faded. _This is bad. It's not just one or two thieves; this sounds like an invasion._ He turned another corner, without the slightest clue where he was going. _And to kill all those men . . . no thief would have done that._

He had to pause to catch his breath at the C corridor. The violent pain in his arm still went on, making him wonder where exactly the bullet had hit. Though he could still feel his fingers he wasn't able to move his arm much, whether it was from pain or a severed nerve he didn't know. After a few moments he started running again. Down the C corridor, left into the D corridor, right, left . . .

Fiona. Fiona, back against the wall. Fiona, with a gun leveled right between the eyes. _Fiona about to die._

There was no time to think; no time to worry, no time to deliberate. There was only right here and now.

He fired the gun.

Fiona screamed as the man trapping her fell limply to the ground. She looked around wildly and spotted Van. Running over, she latched her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. "Oh my god, Van, thank you. Thank you so much." He held onto her as best he could with one arm, still holding the gun.

"It's all right. Calm down," he urged quietly, desperately aware of the situation. "Come on, we have to go." She pulled away from him and nodded resolutely, despite being obviously shaken. "Can you get that guy's gun? We might need it." While Fiona hurried over to the dead intruder, Van yanked the bandage back up his arm, having slid down, and bit back a yell at the bolt of pain it sent through him. He looked up when he heard Fiona returning. Suddenly she noticed his arm.

"Van, what happened!" she cried. He shook his head absently.

"Don't worry about it, it's not serious."

"But all that blood . . ." She didn't sound convinced. "What happened?" she asked again in a harder tone. Van sighed.

"I got shot." He hurried on when he saw her about to speak again. "Look, I do know it's bad, but it'll have to wait. We have to get outside and help." Hesitating, Van thought she would protest, but after a moment she nodded again. They started running down the corridor together, jumping over the man's body as they went.

With Fiona now leading them through the maze-like building, Van no longer had to worry that he was going the wrong way. He merely needed to keep going, keep running, keep the pain from consuming him. He had thought the initial shock of the wound had enhanced the pain, but it was obvious now that it wasn't going to fade any time soon. And he was certain that it was only the adrenaline screaming through his system that kept him on his feet. Even so, he could feel how exhausted he was. Shaking his head violently he focused on Fiona's back as they ran. _Just keep going, stop thinking so much._

Suddenly they came upon the double entrance doors and burst out of them. He only caught a brief glimpse of the pandemonium before he spotted another of the black-clad enemies running past. Quickly he raised the rifle again and took him down. There was a loud bang from beside him and he didn't have to turn around to know that Fiona had also gotten one. Alone for the moment he tried to take in the situation. To his right the buildings were covered in darkness; the power out. Directly in front of him across the tarmac was the medical wing, still with emergency lighting on. However, the left side was a hive of activity. Huge flames licked the sky in one spot, and gunfire-flashes were exploding frequently from the hangar areas.

"Shit, they're after the Zoids! Come on!" he yelled to Fiona and they sprinted across the dark runway. As they drew closer the noise became unbelievably loud. Within a few seconds the full view of the battle was presented to them. A wide line of men, dressed in black, stood in front of the military Zoid hangars. Churning in and out of the invaders were the Imperial soldiers, engaged in bloody combat. It was apparent that the invaders were preventing access to the Zoids at all costs. Having been frozen by the sight for a moment, Van regathered his wits in a snap. He called out into the night.

"Zeke!" Without waiting for the organoid to appear he dove into the frontline of battle. It was madness. All around him guns were firing, men were screaming and blows were being exchanged. He spun on his heel and shot a man in the chest as he jumped at him, then staggered backwards as another tried to punch him across the face. Bumping into the back of someone, Van fired at the assailant before turning to find an Imperial soldier frantically slam his gun across an intruder's head.

"When did this start?" Van shouted as he dodged a misguided tackle and unloaded his rifle into him.

"I have no fucking idea! But _this_ started about ten minutes ago," yelled back the Imperial. "They've been holding the Zoids like their lives depended on it!" Van had no chance to answer as he saw a bright bolt of light flash down nearby. Beating his way out of the skirmish he half-stumbled over to Zeke.

"Zeke," he gasped, hooking his arm around the organoid's neck for a brief hug. Zeke's fretful growl made him pull back. "Zeke, I need you to get in there and start piloting a Zoid. Any Zoid. The one closest to the door. It's the only way to beat these bastards." The silvery-white organoid was clearly torn between obeying his wishes and his concern for Van himself. To make his point he nudged Van in the chest with his nose and whined at him. Van tried to look reassuring despite the catastrophe surrounding them. "I'll be all right. Please Zeke, we need to end it. I don't want any more people dieing tonight."

Zeke's red eyes flashed and he exploded off the ground with a howl towards the nearest shed. Van staggered back against a wall as the organoid tore through two enemy soldiers before crashing through the shed wall. There was a great deal of shouting from the men trying to keep the Zoids secure and many fell dead as the Imperials took their chance. And then there was the unmistakable sound of a Zoid smashing against the metal wall. The whole side of the hangar bowed outwards with the impact, but didn't break. Before Zeke made his second run the enemy soldiers all realized what was going on. There was a single shout, and they began to flee willy-nilly from the battle. The Imperials were taken by surprise and didn't know which way to fire. A great rending crash tore the hangar open and a grey-plated Command Wolf charged outwards, miraculously missing a group of Imperials. With a roar it sprinted after the largest pack of retreating intruders, firing its back-mounted machine gun. Van watched transfixed as Zeke mowed down half the group, a cacophony of screams trailing in his wake. Then the Command Wolf halted, for no apparent reason. It backed up a bit, lowered its body into a straight line, and bounded forward three steps before flying upwards in a leap. _Oh, the fence!_

The Command Wolf was out of sight now, still hunting its prey into the night. Sounds from around the base reentered his ears and Van turned away from the fence to where the hand-to-hand battle had been fought. Dozens of men, both Imperial and enemy, lay dead across the tarmac. The dieing flames nearby threw flashing reflections off the pools of blood. Those left alive seemed dazed and confused, hardly knowing what had happened. The gaping hole in the Zoid hangar behind them stood as testament to the violent acts just committed.

"Van?" He started and saw her standing in front of him. She was clutching the gun to her chest with both hands, eyes wide. Belatedly he realized his rifle was missing. He didn't remember dropping it. "Van," she said again. "Are you all right?" Looking at her, he didn't know how to respond properly. Then he smiled faintly.

"For once, I'd like to know if _you're _all right . . . Fiona."

The gun clattered to the ground as she came forward and hugged him tight. He accepted gratefully. "Let's just not answer the question and call it a truce," she said.

"Agreed," he sighed.

~*~

_Shadow . . . where are you? _

The organoid's head snapped up in shock. Twisting he looked to the west, across the sandy cliff tops he stood upon. All he could see were the quiet stars, shining like they could not around the artificial lights of men. It was hundreds of miles away. But he had heard the call. The call he had heard only once before, so long ago.

_Bittersong._

Black wings erupted from Shadow's back as he shot off the rocky cliff into the night.

~*~

It was still horrifying to think about. Such an awful attack, a massacre of human life. But there was no denying it had happened.

As he walked along the half-lit corridor, Thomas tried to keep his wayward thoughts on the job at hand. Checking for the injured. He was almost at the end of the D corridor in the hospital, and hadn't come across anyone at all. Just luck, he guessed. Some of the other soldiers had found some wounded, cowering in rooms or crying on the floor. And others had found the dead. Opening a door, he looked around the last room before the junction. Apart from some sparsely stacked boxes, nothing. It had also been lucky that the hospital had very few patients in it today, as this was one of the first places struck. Not struck in the high-and-mighty explosion sense. No. What the infiltrators had done here was sabotage. Almost every major medical piece of equipment had been cut from power or disabled in some way. They had also hit the two power generators, leaving only the tertiary generator still running; all that one did was power the emergency lighting. 

One thing was for sure . . . these guys had been professionals.

Coming out of the corridor into the junction, Thomas found three other soldiers – privates and a tech supervisor – waiting for him. He was in charge, after all. The tech supervisor, a mild mannered fellow called Langley, gave a half-hearted salute. Thomas didn't blame him for being so uncaring about procedures, yet saluted back out of habit.

"Lieutenant," Langley said. "We've checked all the corridors A through C. That means the B wing is done."

"Right." Thomas rubbed his forehead with his fingers, attempting to stir his mind back to the task. "There's only the A wing left for us to do, then we're done. The others have the rest covered." He motioned for them to follow and they headed down the short connecting main hallway in silence. When they reached the next corridor, with smaller ones branching off periodically along its length, he turned to them again. "Okay. Langley, you take A. Ein, you get B, and Tivrusky has C. I'll take D at the far end. When you're done, you're free to go."

One by one the men peeled off from the group and went down their own corridors. Eventually Thomas was left to walk the last stretch alone. Turning right, he began the disquieting task of searching all the rooms. Something in him kept jittering whenever he first went in a room, only to find nothing. _At least this is the last corridor. I don't think I could do this for much longer._

Before he knew it he was at the halfway point. Opening another door, he looked inside. It was a regular hospital room, with a bed against the wall, sheets rumpled and empty. 

Shutting the door again, he took a few more steps down the hall . . . and stopped.

He didn't like what he was seeing. Something that looked an awful lot like blood was splashed across the floor here. And there were smears, as though something had been dragged through the blood. Following the trail with his eyes, Thomas saw it end abruptly at a door nearby. He looked at it for a long while, still standing above the gore. Then he moved.

Stepping around the spattered blood he came up to the door, with a sign upon it marked "LINEN". Taking in a breath, he brought his hand up to turn the handle, only to find it open a bit. So he pushed it instead. The door swung back, and he felt his insides turn to ice.

Against the far wall were a couple of metal stack-shelves, stocked with some sheets. The room was stone grey-coloured, except for where the hallway light fell from the open door. Partly illuminated and partly covered by his shadow was the sprawled form of Raven. He wasn't moving. He lay on his side, eerily childlike, dark hair thrown around his face, eyes hidden. The light green hospital shirt and pants, uniform for patients, seemed unreal on him. Dark red stained half of his side, pooling on the floor beneath him where he lay. One arm rested within the red pool. His right leg was dark with blood as well. He wasn't moving.

Thomas didn't know how long he stood there, unable to look away from the renegade's body. Something inside him had broken when he opened that door, and he couldn't repair it yet. The creak of the door as his hand slid off it was enough to wake him from the trance.

He blinked, and then slowly moved forwards. Getting down onto his knees, he knelt next to Raven, unsure of what to do. There was no logical solution to . . . He reached out and gently tilted Raven over onto his back. To his utter shock, the boy he'd been sure was dead suddenly inhaled. He snapped his hands back in alarm. Yes, yes he was breathing. But . . . hardly. It sounded wrong. Too choked, and wheezing. His eyes drifted back to Raven's chest and he realized.

Thomas shivered. He then slid one arm underneath Raven's shoulders, and the other under his legs. Making sure of his grip, he carefully got back on his feet. He was so light. _How in the world did he not die? _It didn't matter. Right now, he needed to get Raven to the temporary hospital tents. Or he _would _die.

Once back in the corridor, he set up a steady stride that was faster than walking, but not violent enough to further injure Raven. He didn't even bother thinking about the other rooms. There wouldn't be anyone in them. Echoes of his lone footsteps bounced around in the otherwise lonely silence. 

Every few moments Thomas would glance down to check on the person in his arms; checking that he was still breathing. Pale beyond belief, he looked like he was already dead, and that his stubborn lungs refused to accept it. But even that seemed difficult to maintain. His breath came too quick and made a definite wheezing noise. Thomas had deep suspicions that wherever he had been shot, it had been near the lungs.

He was aware of the blood as well. The blood, freshly soaking the renegade's clothes, stirred into life again by the movement. Blood on him as well. Echoes, echoes in the hall. Blood on his gloves, his hands . . . _No, not now._ He forced his mind to focus only on the layout of the base.

Turning a corner, Thomas spotted a low-level soldier checking a fuse box. "Private," he said, wondering at the steadiness of his voice. The man turned around and gave a startled look at who the lieutenant was carrying. "I need you to tell me where the temporary medical tents are." To his credit, the man only stared at the infamous child a moment before returning his attention to Thomas.

"Yeah, sure, sir. Go out the main doors, and you know the Zoid runway? It's at the north-end, near the power station."

"Thank you," he murmured distractedly, picking up his pace again. He hardly noticed the corridors going past, so intent was he on getting out of them. The entrance doors appeared before him suddenly, and he spun around and backed out, unable to use his hands.

Glowing artificial lights shone from the far end of the runway stretch. It was a long way. Darkness and chill air enveloped them as Thomas kept walking, still holding the ailing Raven. A stronger gust of wind blew the black hair around his face, and Thomas tightened his grip. He was afraid, _terrified_, that Raven would die before he got him there. He didn't want to be alone with a dead person; didn't want to watch helpless as he stopped living.

Glancing up, he saw the lights were closer now, and he could make out the boxy shapes of the tents. _You're halfway there. There's still time, there's still time. Don't quit on me now . . . please . . ._ Of course, there was no answer to his silent plea; only a few irregular gasps of breath.

He felt a twitch. Looking down, he was shocked to see Raven's stormy eyes crack open and try to focus. He started shaking and moaning from pain, distressing Thomas to no end. Raven's confused whisper broke into the night.

"What is . . . where . . . where are you . . .?" Thomas could see the alienation and fright in his eyes.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he said in a voice he hadn't heard in an age: his own, real one. "Don't worry, we're almost there." He wasn't sure if Raven took the words in or not. Wincing, he screwed his eyes up and panted harshly.

"I . . . I want Shadow . . . Duskwing . . ." He fell limp again. That was enough to panic the Imperial, sending him into a dead run towards the tents. Luckily, it took mere seconds to get there from where he was.

He dashed into the open entrance of the nearest tent. A nurse, tending to a soldier, looked up in surprise.

"I need help, quick!" Thomas half-shouted at her. This was as much as he could do. Feeling the unconscious Raven's weight in his arms, he could only pray that it was enough.

And that it wasn't too late.

~*~

"You know . . . I still don't get why I have to wear a sling." Fiona gave Van an exasperated look.

"Because you need to keep your arm immobile. The doctor _told_ you that."

"Yeah, but I didn't get shot here," he said, indicating his lower arm. "I got shot _here._"

"Van, you had skin, muscle, nerves and bone shattered by that bullet. I don't think you'd be able to move any part of your arm even if you _tried_."

"I suppose you have a point. But did you really need to include that bone part again?" He winced at the very idea of it. "It was bad enough hearing about it the first time, not to mention the actual . . . shattering."

"Well you wanted the explanation," she sighed, brushing back a blonde strand of hair. "Will you be able to manage getting the sling off when you go to bed?"

"Yeah, probably." The smile faded from his face. "He said I wouldn't be able to pilot properly for a while. I can make the Zoid move, if I reconfigure the controls for one-handed operations, but I won't be able to fight or run flat out or dodge." Seeing how dejected his partner looked, Zeke lowered his head onto Van's shoulder and crooned in sympathy. Van stroked the organoid's snout a bit. "After seeing how many bandages he wrapped around my arm, I'm not gonna doubt his opinion." Fiona tilted her head up, gazing at the dusty stars.

"Hopefully you won't need to pilot for a while anyway."

"I don't know, Fiona." He sounded weary and tired. "After an attack like this, it's pretty likely there'll be another."

"I know," she murmured. Van looked at her a long while, and then dug around in his pocket.

"In any case," he said, changing the subject quite obviously. "I'll at least be able to finally sleep, what with these little beauties." A small bottle was withdrawn from his pocket and he grinned at it. "I swear I could have kissed Doctor Grey for that."

"Van, at the risk of sounding stupid . . . drugs aren't the answer."

"They are not drugs. They are painkillers with a drowsiness side effect."

"Painkillers _are_ drugs!"

"Oh calm down," he laughed, pocketing the pills again. "Honestly Fiona, you're so easy to string along." Seeing her scowl he quickly changed tack. "I won't use them every night. Just until the wound gets better." His eyes clouded over a little. "I never thought one bullet could hurt so much."

Before she could answer, Fiona spotted someone exit the tents. She nudged Van and pointed. "Is that . . .?"

"You know, I think it is. Thomas!" The person stopped and looked over, and she could tell for certain then that it was the Imperial. Van waved his arm and shouted again. "Thomas, over here!"

After a moment's hesitation Thomas started to come their way. Fiona glanced at Van. _I wonder . . ._ She turned back and saw Thomas jog the last few metres and stop.

"Hi. You guys okay?" 

_We're fine, thanks, _was on the tip of Fiona's tongue when she suddenly gave Thomas a proper look. Gasping, she grabbed hold of his arms, much to his apparent surprise.

"Us?! What about you?! Gods, Thomas, what happened!" Thomas looked completely non-plussed, and a little scared.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at you!" she cried, pointing at his chest. "There's blood all over your clothes!" 

"Oh geez, she's right! Thomas, what happened?" Van yelled with an unmistakably guilty edge to his voice. Thomas looked down at his clothes, then his hands, and suddenly comprehension dawned on him.

"Oh, _that._"

"_What do you mean "oh that"?!_" Fiona nearly screamed, feeling unaccountably panicked. There was blood all over the man and he didn't seem bothered at all. He tried to take her hands off but she didn't let go. When he realized that she wasn't going to unhand him until he explained, he sighed and flushed a bit.

"Fiona, it's alright. Really. That's not my blood." Relief flooded through her and she loosened her grip a little. Van spoke up then.

"Who's is it then? What were you doing to get covered with blood like that?" Thomas looked away, seemingly composing himself. Then he looked back with a clear expression that didn't give anything away.

"It was Raven." Silence followed his words. He averted his eyes again. "I found him in the hospital and . . . it was my job to find injured and bring them to the tents." Fiona released him entirely. She didn't dare look at Van, in case what she saw wasn't pleasant.

"I'm just glad that you weren't hurt, Thomas." He still didn't look at her. _Oh god,_ she realized, _he thinks we're judging him because of what he did for Raven._ It was common knowledge that Van hated Raven, and so, he thought that saving him would put him in a bad light. And after the fight they'd had . . . "You did the right thing, Thomas." She finally managed to look him in the eye as he glanced back to her. "A life is a life. I would have done the same thing in your place." His shuttered green eyes stayed with her for a few moments, before flickering over to where Van undoubtedly was, who still hadn't said a word. He nodded his assent slightly to her.

"Yeah, I suppose . . . well. I'd better . . . go change." Turning to leave, he shot one last look at Van before facing the other way. Biting her lip, Fiona looked over at Van. He was staring hard at the floor, apparently having a tortured argument between two parts of himself. Suddenly his head snapped up and he ran after Thomas a few steps. He grabbed Thomas by the shoulder.

"Wait, Thomas." The two stared at each other; the taller man waiting for the shorter boy. Van twisted at his shirt with his hand, then dropped it and looked up at him, a mixture of shame and need on his face. "I wanted to say . . . I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I was really upset and stressed and . . . it was completely unforgivable, the way I treated you. I wanted to tell you today when we called Karl but . . . I couldn't. I just want you to know it wasn't your fault, it was entirely mine. And I . . . I completely understand if you don't want to forgive me."

Thomas seemed frozen, and yet Fiona could still make nothing of what he was feeling. She saw him pull at his gloves a bit. "It's all right, Van . . . you don't have to . . ."

"No, I do. I really am sorry, Thomas." He looked up from his hands and focused on Van, standing there firmly and the most sincere Fiona had seen him in ages. Thomas gulped and dropped his hands.

"Of course I forgive you . . ." he said softly. "How could I not?" Van smiled, and finally seemed to be rid of all that was haunting him. 

"Thank you." 

"I'll . . . I'll see you later," Thomas said, turning to leave again. Fiona watched him go. _He truly doesn't know how to respond to friends. Maybe he's never had any. At least he has us now._ She walked over to Van and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done Lieutenant." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Now, off you march to bed."

"Oh come on, Fiona . . ."

"Uh uh. It's 2am. Time all good boys were in bed."

"Whoever said I was a good boy?"

"Your sister."

"Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

--------------------------

Notes:  Some of those scenes were EXCRUCIATING to write, and the main cause of my delay. Namely the "Raven gets shot" scene and the "Thomas finds Raven" scene. Those were absolute bitches to envision and pen down. I'm sure you could feel my pain during those.

Some of the soldiers' names were taken from two anime series. If anyone can pick which ones you win an imaginary medal. 

I really have no idea if anyone could survive as long as Raven did riddled with bullet holes, but cut me some slack if it's not possible. We don't want him to die now, do we?

I suppose you're wondering if anyone will ever find out about Raven's little act of heroism. The short and long of it is: no. No one will ever know, not even Raven, because he's going to forget it. How sad.

You may have picked up on it, but Thomas is really quite unstable. I'm getting to that shortly, as it'll become a far bigger focus point. Kinda like replacing Van-angst with Thomas-angst. Van's over it, pretty obviously, having killed about 20 people in this chapter without blinking. Hooray for him. 

And those strange words I keep dropping in with Raven and Shadow's thoughts? Next chapter, all shall be revealed! 

- Vappa


	8. If There Is A Hell

Okay uh . . . no excuse. At all. Feel free to kill me, but just wait until the end of the story. Truth is, I had a hard time writing this one because it was rather different to the others. I had to get in touch with characters I hadn't explored fully before this moment. But I finally managed to finish it last night, so here it is. I don't think it turned out quite the way I planned, but oh well. Better now than never. Please give feedback, I'd really appreciate it on this chapter.

Don't own Zoids.

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I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

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_Eight: If There Is A Hell_

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Whipping on his flight jacket, Karl rushed down the hallway. He paid little attention to the soldier trailing a bit behind him; the same soldier who had woken him up. He was far more focused on the report the man had given him bare minutes before. 

_An Imperial-operated base attacked at midnight? By people, with no Zoids? What on Zi was the motivation? _As he gave it more thought, and his sleep-addled mind moved up a gear, it became apparent only a few people would have organized such a thing. Either Hiltz or Reese was behind it. Had he been alive, Prozen would have been on the list too. But seeing as he wasn't, the options left were limited. Hiltz seemed bent on acquiring power, technology and information for some unknown purpose, judging by his previous attacks on both Helic and Gailos lands. Reese was somewhat more enigmatic. He didn't quite know what she was after. Perhaps Raven, but judging by the reports he'd received regarding the renegade, he was in no condition or position to orchestrate an invasion. Besides, he's always been a solo operator, going so far as to destroy any "backup" he received from the Empire rather than accept the help.

Suddenly he was out of the hallway and in the communications centre. Only a few people on graveyard shift were present, but they darted from place to place in that telltale manner of distressing news. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and back into business. 

"Tauras!" he barked at a higher-ranking terminal operator nearby. "Tell me what's going on." The woman nodded curtly and gestured to the main screen.

"About an hour ago we received a distress signal. However, the signal was cut off almost immediately after it was activated and it was lost too quickly to determine where it had come from or the nature of its activation. We remained on alert, waiting for another, should it come."

"You received one?"

"Yes Major. Ten minutes ago at 0143 hours. It came from the Redstone base, and informed us that there had been an invasion of enemy forces, which had been sent into retreat a short while before they sent the message. They requested damage repair specialists and a Gustav team to assist in clearing the base."

Karl nodded vaguely. After the words _Redstone base _he had not really heard anything Tauras said. His mind had, instead, skipped over the trivialities of damage reports to something far more important.

_Thomas._

"Sir?" He blinked and looked at Tauras, waiting patiently for his orders. Giving himself a mental shake he automatically fired off commands.

"Assemble the necessary pilots and repair workers for the team I assume the damage is quite large?"

"Moderate to high level."

"Yes. We'll need about fifty workers and ten Gustavs then. It's all we can spare. Brief their head of operations and inform them that they will depart as soon as possible. And," he added, having a thought. "Prepare one of the faster model Command Wolves for me. I will be heading out to Redstone as well."

"May I ask why, Major?" This woman certainly had the initiative he valued in his combat pilots. _She's wasted at terminals. Should have been a Zoid pilot. _He glanced over to the projected map of the Gailos Empire territory, where a red target blinked over Redstone. This base, Desert Heights, was relatively close, though still some hundred miles away.

"Apart from surveying the damage and situation for myself, Tauras, there are three members of the Guardian Force in Redstone, along with a convicted Imperial traitor." He turned to leave. "I need to discuss this with them and try to get the bigger picture."

_And, _he thought silently as he passed the terminal operator, _my brother's out there._

~*~

Thomas stood silently in front of the bathroom mirror. His face was pallid, and expressionless. The fluorescent lighting threw cold, inhuman shadows across the room. It filled his ears with buzzing.

He studied himself, his appearance. The small arrow-head marking below his left eye was as vivid as always against his pale skin. Red on white. So out of place. Cast steely grey in the light, his eyes were blank. As always. Only he wasn't fooled by his own façade. 

Eventually his gaze drifted to his uniform, tainted with blood all over. It was as thought he had bled himself, from fatal wounds he neither had nor felt. Except he was completely . . . unharmed. But the blood was still there. Even on his hands.

Tan gloves stained and spattered dark maroon. As he held them up to his eyes, he could feel the inevitable twinge of those feelings suppressed. His mood and expression darkened.

Closing his eyes, Thomas slid his fingers under his right glove and peeled it off.

~*~

Karl drummed his fingers against the control stick. Charging across the desert and apparently getting nowhere, for all his speed, was making him extremely agitated. If there had been a Redler on hand he'd have taken it in a flash, but half the Redler fleet had been called in for repairs this past week. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The scenery whipped by the Command Wolf's viewing windows, stars being the only fixed point. He glanced at them. He wasn't sure whether he hated them or not now. Ever since being freed from Reese's control he'd had mixed feelings towards them. She had used a lot of imagery as tools to break his mind; stars were one of them, one of the more powerful.

However, she had always projected a view of the stars being extinguished. The fact that these stars remained motionless and unwavering was a comfort.

He still wasn't sure though.

Suddenly he glimpsed something ahead, a faint glowing of light behind the sand hills, and confirmed it on his radar moments later. Relief flooded through him. A whole hour of thoughtless travel had given him way too much time to worry and dwell on memories.

The Command Wolf's loping run was adjusted to a slower variation as the illuminated buildings of Redstone Base came into view. He pulled up to the gate and, seeing that the registration panel on the wall was nothing but a black burn mark, popped open the cockpit shield. After descending from the Command Wolf he was hailed by three soldiers guarding the entrance. It was a simple matter to gain clearance from them; they recognised the badges of rank immediately.

Deciding to leave the Command Wolf in their hands, Karl went in through the side door meant for humans. His first view of the interior of Redstone was a rather unpleasant shock, even if he _had _been expecting damage. Large chunks of concrete and metal pillars were scattered around the remnants of a building, with very little past the first floor left of it. He guessed the rest of it was on the ground. Skirting the rubble, he made his way through along the dark runway to where the captain's offices where.

His talk with the captain, Wright, was fairly short and to the point; the point being that this late at night, there was no real reason to discuss anything, and there would be a more comprehensive meeting the next day. He also inquired as to where his brother was sleeping, and was directed to the residential buildings running alongside the meal hall.

A short while later, and Karl was sure, peering into the dark room that Thomas was elsewhere. He had the distinct feeling that he would be in an unused room somewhere, doing something related to machinery and technology. So he went through to another corridor, and checked in all of the rooms designated as free-use. There were quite a lot of them. He finally came upon the last one.

The door was ajar, with a bar of light flooding out through the gap. Karl felt certain he'd be in here; he could think of no other person who would be awake at 5am after a brutal invasion. Besides himself, that is. He pushed open the door and looked inside.

It was a featureless room, obviously used for unimportant work and soldiers on free time. Apart from a long rectangular bench against the far wall, there was absolutely nothing in there. Except for his brother, who was sitting in the middle of the floor with his back to Karl. He seemed to be working furiously on something that Karl couldn't see; his timeworn toolbox was open nearby with what must surely have been its entire contents strewn around the floor with no logical order. Screwdrivers, computer chips, copious amounts of wires, bits of metal and all sorts of other specialised things that he couldn't identify. As he watched, Thomas dropped a screwdriver and reached blindly for a pair of pliers he must have known were close.

"Yes, what is it," came Thomas' exasperated voice, apparently having heard the door open. Karl blinked and stared at the back of his blonde head. _He still sounds like normal, at least._ But he knew just how misleading appearances could be. He shifted to lean against the doorframe.

"I just thought I'd check up on you, Thomas."

Thomas' frenzied activity stilled for a moment in the ringing silence. Then he started working again, albeit not as fast. "Oh, Karl. What brings you out here?" He still didn't turn around.

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, good point," he replied blithely, seeming to twist something on whatever machine he was making. "Someone activated the alarm then, I suppose. Nice to know our defence procedures still work."

"It is." Thomas picked up a circuit board, and lifted it to see better under the light. It was then that Karl noticed he wasn't wearing his regular uniform. Or his gloves. Staring at his brother in shock, Karl immediately knew he'd have to change his approach. Something this unusual only deepened his concerns. "So, you were under siege by a force of unknown origins, with unknown purpose. They sabotaged a lot of the facilities and Zoids, before being forced into retreat by Van's organoid." He watched Thomas carefully.

"Sounds about right." No reaction. He was still using his defences. _I'm sorry Thomas, but I'm going to have to break them down._

"And I heard reports that you brought the maverick Raven, severely injured, to the medical workers."

For the second time, Thomas froze in the middle of his work. This time when he began again, his movements were uncertain and tense. He didn't say anything.

"Did you?" Karl prompted.

"Well _of course _I did!" he snapped. Taking a breath, he went on in an indignant tone. "I did what everyone would have done in my situation. So what if I saved the life of Zi's most famous criminal? I couldn't just leave him there to . . . die . . ." He trailed off. Karl looked at him sadly.

". . . in his own blood?" he asked quietly.

Again silence pervaded the room. They could both hear the others' breathing. Thomas was still for a moment, and then he seemed to crumple a bit. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "What do you really want, Karl?" he murmured, voice stripped of all the arrogance and confidence that he was well known for. The barriers were down, and Karl took no pleasure in it. _But you knew it would have happened without you, and it would have been much more painful._

Stepping away from the doorframe he crossed into the room and sat down next to his brother. He merely looked at the wall for a while, as he was sure Thomas was looking at whatever he'd been making. "What I really wanted," he said, "was to make sure you were okay." There was no answer, but he hadn't expected one. Eventually he glanced over to Thomas, who was still gazing at his creation. His expression was blank, as was his custom, but Karl had learnt long ago how to read a person's emotions without relying on their face. Even so, he sometimes missed the signs when it came to Thomas. He could see the forlorn darkness behind his eyes; a sight he'd hoped was gone. Things had been going so well, since Thomas had joined the Guardian Force. He'd been foolish thought to imagine that Thomas would be unaffected by his near fatal attack on him, and by finding Raven in such a way.

"And are you?" Karl asked, putting a hand on Thomas' shoulder. The younger Schubaltz blinked and tilted his head down a bit.

"I guess . . ." Feeling the rough cotton under his hand, Karl again noted how strange it was for Thomas to be wearing other clothes. A dark blue, long-sleeved shirt and grey military issue pants would be by no means extraordinary to anyone else, but for him it was. _But then, _he thought as he finally looked at what was in Thomas' hands, _the sleeves are long, past his wrists even . . ._

As far as he could make out, Thomas had been making a miniature satellite dish. It was circular like a bowl, and filled with complex circuits and wiring. Clearly it wasn't finished, seeing as the layers within were still half completed, but it was certainly a very advanced piece of technology. Thomas held it loosely in his pale, slender hands, never once taking his eyes off it.

"What is it?" ventured Karl, more to keep talking than anything, and try to illicit a response from Thomas.

His brother stared at it a while longer, then lifted his head to meet Karl's eyes for the first time that night. "I don't really know." They looked at each other, before Thomas sighed and started picking up his tools.

"Just leave them, you can clean up tomorrow," Karl said. Thomas glanced up at him. "It's been a really long night. It can wait." He picked up the dish and laid it aside on the floor, standing up as he did so. "You need some rest, I can see it."

Thomas obligingly got to his feet, rubbing his eyes with a fist. "When was the last time you got any sleep anyway?" Karl asked, suspicious. His brother looked vaguely at the ceiling.

"Um . . . after the battle with Hiltz, I think. I was knocked out at least."

"Oh, 'Mas*," he groaned, steering Thomas by the shoulder towards the door. "That's something like forty hours."

"It's forty-two," Thomas said mechanically. "I counted." Karl stared at him.

"Uh . . . of course you did." Karl finished, bemused, as they walked down the empty corridor. His brother had always been a numerical thinker, which had always been slightly out of his league. In the midst of battle, Thomas would be able to tell you that there were three hundred and seventy-two Zoids on the field. Karl, on the other hand, would be able to tell you that there were a hell of a lot of enemies to blow up. But Thomas had never been able to acknowledge that he was indeed smarter than his brother. Karl supposed he took the fact that Karl was higher in rank as a measure of his intelligence compared to his own. It was a completely skewed viewpoint, but that was how Thomas saw things. Always.

"I had a fight with Van," Thomas said suddenly. Karl looked up in surprise but Thomas was keeping his attention on the end of the hall. He'd said it flatly, in the way that he did when he was severing his emotions from his logic.

In other words, in his most-used voice.

Karl frowned a bit, deciding not to interfere too much with his brothers' admission. He rarely told anyone anything related to himself that wasn't bravado. But he knew his brother, and knew that if he wanted to learn anything else he'd have to ask.

"What about?" Thomas pushed his hands into his pockets as he walked.

"The battle with Hiltz." The memory of his video call to the two Guardians resurfaced in Karl's mind. He remembered how Van had looked exhausted, but also how he kept looking at Thomas as though he wanted to say something, then getting a guilty look and turning away. Thomas had just been his usual self, except for the bandage. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, being rather busy, but now he was able to see it in a different light.

"Did something go wrong?" he asked, curious as to whether the argument was real of just taken out of context by Thomas. He did that often. He also knew that Van regarded Thomas as a friend, even if he didn't always act like it.

"Not really," Thomas muttered. "We were fighting, and Van left to pursue another opening, which left me compromised. His motives weren't clear to me until later so afterwards I questioned his tactics. He . . . wasn't pleased."

_By the sounds of it, he went off his rocker, _Karl mused. He had been unlucky enough to see Van lose it before, and even though he hadn't been on the receiving end it had been pretty spectacular. He'd known Van for a long time now, and so he knew more about him than Thomas was likely to. For the most part, Van was one of the nicest and most sincere people he had ever met. But when put under pressure, stressed and frustrated, he could turn truly vicious. It wasn't really his fault; Van had a tendency to divert his anger and ignore it, which was why he was so well known for his 'shake it off and smile' attitude. That habit lead to his frustrations building up and eventually reaching explosion point, and heaven help the poor man who was provoking him at the time.

Even Van knew this, and obviously felt terrible afterwards. Whatever he said when he flew into a rage, he didn't really mean. And he always made it up to people afterwards. It was just an unfortunate character flaw.

It seemed that Thomas had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I'm sure he wasn't really mad at you," he sighed. "He was probably tired from the battle. And he _did _say he'd made some bad judgement calls when we had that briefing. That would have upset him."

"No, no . . . I shouldn't have implied his actions were wrong. He'd just saved me and he's a far better pilot than I am. I had no right to accuse him."

Karl was about to protest this manner of thinking when Thomas stopped abruptly. Belatedly he realized that they were in the residential areas, and this must have been Thomas' room. Thomas opened the door and made to go in, but stopped. He looked at Karl.

"Thanks for coming," he said softly. "I mean, I know it's part of your job-"

"I would have come even if it wasn't." Karl smiled faintly. "You're my brother." Thomas' didn't appear to react, but his eyes warmed a little.

"Yeah." He shut the door behind him.

~*~

Redstone Base hardly looked better in the cold light of dawn. But then Fiona hadn't exactly been thinking all the rubble would be magically cleaned away in the four hours she'd been asleep. Wandering around a corner, she gazed across the tarmac towards the medical tents with no real plans of what she was going to do. She'd had a bit of sleep, but she'd woken up and been unable to fall back into the blissful nothingness and gotten up instead. 

She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair. Not many people were up yet, and she didn't blame them at all. She actually wished she could join them. It would be a while before the soldiers woke, and set about the arduous task of repairing the wreckage. Or, at least clearing it up. There was enough broken stone here to practically fill the valley of the Rare Hertz. 

The faint orange rays of sunlight from over the horizon were just beginning to stroke the ground here, brushing away the last vestiges of lingering night. A night that had almost seemed to have no end. 

Still, things could have been much, much worse than they were. Indeed Fiona wondered why they weren't all dead. The invaders had been murderous, yes, but they hadn't appeared to be focused on killing them. Had they had another goal? One they hadn't had the time nor wits to think of during the attack? Perhaps they'd stolen confidential files, or equipment, or even kidnapped someone whom hadn't been noticed missing yet. 

_Oh, it's all too confusing at this hour, _she thought. She had a lot of other things on her mind, on top of the concerns about Hiltz's motives. Just a few minutes ago she had come out of the medical tents after inquiring about how people were doing. Namely, how Raven was doing. The doctor she'd been able to get the attention of had been decent enough to look it up for her. As it turned out, Raven had been near the top of the list for the critically wounded, and so had priority for use of the accelerated healing machines** that had survived the wreckage. There were only three operational, so the most seriously wounded were first in line. When she'd arrived, he'd been in the operating theatre for about twenty minutes.

Fiona reflected on how strange it was to even be thinking about that sort of thing. A bare two weeks ago she hadn't even known Raven was still alive, and now here she was, glad that he was getting medical treatment and going to pull through. 

"It's a funny world we live in," she murmured under her breath. 

Listening to the distant hum of some machine being started up, Fiona wished that Van or Thomas were around. Before she'd left the sleeping barracks she'd checked in on Van, who had been, for once, dead to the world. It seemed the sleeping pills had worked. _As long as he doesn't get addicted, fine by me. He deserves a break anyway._ Not that she'd ever tell him she approved of drugs. 

As for Thomas, she hadn't seen him since the night before. She hadn't expected to though. Thomas was sometimes notoriously difficult to track down, especially when he was in one of his technological modes. Even if she _could _find him, it would be hopeless talking to him if he was programming computers or building radars. 

It was a shame though; she enjoyed his company in a way she couldn't with Van. She loved Van, that was true, but she felt closer to Thomas intellectually, and in some other way she couldn't quite pinpoint yet. This was one of those times when she wanted to have a conversation with him, and he wasn't around. He never seemed to be at times like this.

A sudden dark flash at the edge of her vision jolted Fiona out of her reverie. She looked back towards the tents and was shocked to see Shadow alight on the ground next to them, howling in rage. Frozen for a moment, she then started sprinting towards the obsidian organoid, who was now gnashing his teeth at the frightened guards near the entrance. 

Closer to the ruckus she could hear Shadow's frustrated snarling and the guards' calls of "Stay back! Back!" The organoid snapped his head back and unleashed a furious roar, then darted his head at one of the men, clamping his jaws shut on the thin air in front of his chest. The guard, surprised, brandished his gun at him and looked to be on the verge of firing it. But something was wrong here. _Why isn't Shadow just tearing through? He's not even touching them._

"Miss Fiona, don't come any closer!" the other guard, a man named Braidee, shouted as she came within hearing distance. "This thing's insane, we've got to kill it!"

"No, wait!" she cried, darting up next to him and grabbing his gun arm. "Don't shoot him!" They both ducked as the enraged organoid's tail whipped through the air above them. The other man snarled and cocked his handgun.

"I'm afraid we haven't got much chance ma'am. The devil's could really hurt someone."

"I know, but something's not right! Let me . . ." she paused, frantically thinking for a solution. "Let me try to calm him down."

"Calm him down?!" Braidee said, flabbergasted. "With all due respect, Miss Fiona –" Whatever he had been about to say was drowned out by Shadow's roaring as he tossed his head back and danced from foot to foot.

"Just let me try! If it doesn't work, you can kill him." Fiona winced, not having intended to sign Shadow's death warrant in case she failed. Looking extremely unwilling, Braidee and his partner nodded and dropped their guns, stepping back with hands up in a gesture of surrender to Shadow. 

Shadow stopped flaring his wings at this and stared hard at the men, not seeming to notice Fiona at all. Teeth bared, he continued to growl and sway back and forth in a manner that was _very _disconcerting. Trying not to think about what those teeth could do to her, Fiona stepped forward a bit. Shadow saw the movement and snapped his head around to glare at her, snarling loudly and opening his mouth again. 

"Shadow," she started, then stopped, not really knowing what to say. How exactly do you calm down an enraged organoid that has no qualms about killing? She had his attention though, she could see that. The organoid's sky blue eyes were solidly fixed on her. She took a larger step towards him.

An invisible line was crossed. Shadow began thrashing about again, shaking his spiked head and attempting to push past her towards the tents. Suddenly she understood. Quickly she put herself in front of the entrance to the tents, between Shadow and his goal. He shrieked and flung his head out towards her. At the last second she whipped her hands up and grabbed his snout. 

"Shadow, what do you want!" she shouted clearly, even though she knew. Until she could get him to calm down there was no point getting down to business. She could feel the vibrations of his cries as he attempted to wrench away from her. She kept hold.

_"Shadow!"_ Fiona called again, this time opening her mind and adding its mental voice to her own. _"Shadow, what do you want?"_ After a few moments, she felt Shadow stop moving so violently. _"Shadow-Sar***, I cannot help you unless you tell me what you are doing here." _

She looked into the organoid's eyes, still for the second. Focusing hard, she projected acceptance and a willingness to help. Having never done this with anyone but Zeke, she worried that it might not work, that Shadow wouldn't let her in or be able to. 

_"Please Shadow-Sar . . . tell me."_

Shadow was silent, and then he keened a long, low note. At the same time, a dizzying array of images and sounds assaulted her mind. Rocking back on her feet, she screwed her eyes shut and tried to make sense of them. Most flew by far too fast to see anything more than a brief glimpse, but she was beginning to see a pattern. Just as she began to feel sick, a final image flickered through her mind, staying for longer than the others, long enough to see . . .

Raven, younger, face streaked with blood and tears, reached up with one hand. His hazy purple eyes were full of sorrow and distress.

_"I'm sorry, Shadow. . ."_

And then the clumsy mindlink Shadow had forged with her fell silent. Gasping, she opened her eyes again and met his. Now she could see. She stroked the organoid's snout with one hand. 

"I understand now. You want to see him." Shadow rumbled softly, nudging her hand expectantly. "He's here, you know that. I'll get you in there." Fiona turned to Braidee, who was staring at her as though she'd just performed a miracle. "Braidee, could you go inside the medical tents and ask Doctor Grey if Raven is out of the operating room yet?"

"Uh, yes, sure," he stammered, hurrying inside. His partner merely looked at her in wonder. She flushed slightly and smiled. 

"That's a pretty useful skill . . . whatever it is." Fiona was saved from answering by the return of Braidee.

"He said that Raven just got out of the accelerated healing machine. He's in one of the beds, in a separate tent."

"Good. Now, I'm going to take Shadow here in with me. Could you walk along with us to make sure nobody gets upset or frightened?"

"Yes, of course." She turned to Shadow.

"Okay, let's go. But don't do anything stupid. I can't save you if the army decides you're a threat." Shadow growled and pushed at her back, indicating he wanted her to move and show him the way. 

A number of patients stared at the unlikely party with wide eyes as they passed, Shadow not very quietly or inconspicuously. Thankfully, Raven's tent wasn't that far away and they got there in no time. Braidee remained outside the room, shutting the door behind them when they went in.

Being a tent hastily thrown up after the battle, there was hardly anything in there besides the bed. The only other object in the room was an IV drip, filtering blood down into Raven's left arm. Raven himself lay still and silent on the bed, white as the sheets around him and looking as terrible as the day they found him. Fiona crossed over to the side of his bed quietly, with Shadow clanking his way to the opposite side. The dark organoid keened a little, resting his head on Raven's palm. Of course Raven didn't respond, but it seemed to Fiona that the air in the room changed slightly; some hidden tension dissipated. She looked at Shadow, resolute by his master's side. It had seemed rather hopeless for Raven since they'd found him, near death so many times since. But she couldn't help but feel that if he had Shadow with him, he just might make it.

Peering at his slash-and-circle marking, she thought she saw his eyelids flicker.

"I wonder if you're dreaming," she whispered. "And I wonder what about . . ."

Shadow merely looked at Raven, and never took his eyes away . . . . . .

~*~

. . . . . . "There's no way I can lose!" Raven howled, twisting the machine guns around and bombarding the fallen Blade Liger. The Zoid jerked and snapped as the hail of bullets ate into it. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl and pressed harder on the button. "Not to a bastard like you," he vowed in rage, delighting in the brutal erosion of his opponent.

Van's time on this planet was over. He was going to _suffer _for all the times he'd beaten Raven, beaten his organoid, beaten his Zoids. He would _suffer _for being forever on his tail, screwing with his plans, Prozen's plans; he didn't care either way whether the lunatic became emperor or not, it was the fact that losing was not in his vocabulary. Watching the orange cockpit crack and spawn millions of shattered snowflake-holes, he seethed. Van had done this to _him_, to the Zaber Fang. He'd vaporised it, shredded it into tiny pieces, eaten it alive. The useless thing hadn't stood a chance against the powerful vibrations of the Liger's shield. He hadn't cared, he'd wanted to kill Van, reach deep inside that damned Zoid of his and tear his heart out. But the Zaber Fang had been _too weak_.

This time, he wouldn't feel the humiliation of defeat at the hands of a wannabe hero. He blew out his breath in a hiss and grinned fiendishly, aware of the shake of the machine guns.

Then something happened.

The Blade Liger started to pulse with light. Raven snapped his head around quickly and saw with fury that that pathetic silver organoid was gone. The machine guns grated to a halt as the light around Van shone brighter and brighter, completely hiding it from view.

"What are you _doing?!_" he screamed, slamming a fist into the console. "Stop it!" But of course Van didn't stop what he was doing: regenerating. That foul, cheating, son of a bitch! Suddenly the flaring glow fell away from the Liger, leaving it pristine, with both blades intact.

Chest heaving in anger Raven flung himself forwards at the windows, restrained at the last second by the safety belt. "You stupid little boy!" he screeched. "Do you think that regenerating will save you?" Unseeing he snatched at the charged particle lever and pushed it right up. Two thuds reverberated through his body as the foot locks bit into the earth. Blue light flooded in, dripping off the mass of energy forming in the Geno Saurer's mouth above. He could hardly see the Blade Liger through the buzzing light, igniting its shield. Raven snarled and pushed harder at the controls, though they would go no further. The Geno Saurer levelled out and became a straight ramrod of power, ready to ignite at the head. His line of sight was almost the same as his Zoids'. "I've had enough," he shouted. "Time to die Flyheight!" Before he had even finished speaking his hand was on the firing button.

Foolishly, Van started to run towards him, blades levelled forwards at their tips. And then the Liger jumed. "Shadow!" Raven ordered the dark organoid, deep in the Zoid's core. "Give it more power! All of it, into the particle gun. _He will not survive this time!_" Whatever answer the organoid might have made was drowned out in a pulse of ferocious energy, expanding the seething mass of the particle gun, before it exploded forwards at a breakneck speed.

The sheer brilliance of the weapon nearly blinded him, but Raven could still make out the Blade Liger for a second before the beam smashed into it. There was a massive lurch of kickback from the impact, and he could feel the very air growing warm from the snapping electricity around him, but Raven didn't care. Flyheight would finally be gone, out of his way; nevermore would he remain as a mockery of his defeat. He would be _free_.

But the Blade Liger's outline re-emerged. In shock he watched the infuriating machine surge forwards again, coming ever closer. He distantly heard Van yell through his comm. Unit. _No! Not again! He won't beat me again, I won't let him!_

"_That's impossible!_" he screamed. But it wasn't. He slammed on the particle gun lever again, to no avail. The Liger continued to advance. His hand wrenched at the lever over and over again; up, down, up, down, up, down. The heat became unbearable as the particle energy began to reverse on itself and started hitting the Geno Saurer, fanned towards him by the Liger's shield. "I can't lose to you!" _But he was._

All the fury, hatred and bloodlust in him responded to the situation and he lost all sense of self.

"I hate you!"

Van had thwarted him again.

"I hate you!"

The rough handle of the lever began tearing at his palm as he worked it up and down.

"I hate you!"

It was all because of this one – little – boy!

"_I HATE YOU!_"

He screamed it pure rage as his inevitable defeat came within killing range. It was aiming for the Geno Saurer's mouth, suspended above him. Madness coursed through him along with burning images.

Destruction, hate, murder, torture, training, defeat, fear, pain, longing, stars, claws, blades, Prozen, fear, Flyheight, Zaber Fang, fear, burning, fear, particle cannon, fear, fear, fear, death, fear . . .

He was going to die.

The realisation hit him hard, knocking the scream right out of his lungs. For the first time, Raven could truly feel the pain of the boiling cockpit, the particle energy lancing through him. He could truly feel it. He could feel his death approaching, seconds away. And it was terrifying.

Fear overwhelmed him, and Raven screamed again, unable to tear his eyes away from the Blade Liger. The blade swept out of view, and he knew that was it.

A great rending shriek crashed through the Geno Saurer as the blade ripped through it, destroying the particle cannon. Flames exploded all around him, and he thought he heard a Zoid roar above his own screaming. The Liger? The Geno Saurer? Shadow?

The world went black.

~*~

Pain returned first. Even before he knew he was awake, he could feel the pain. Everywhere, it was everywhere, all over.

Crying out, Raven tried to twist away from it, but found himself pinned under something. The movement sent fresh agony along his skin. He couldn't get away. Opening his eyes he could only see jagged pieces of charred metal above, with a single sliver of blue sky behind them.

It was the Geno Saurer, or what was left of it. He could hear and feel fires burning close by, the heat suffocating the air. His body burned as well; recoiling and reacting to the numerous scars and wounds on it. 

Hideous anger flared in him and he screamed in rage. He writhed and twisted, raving incoherently at the Zoid, at Shadow, at Flyheight. The pain only got worse as he struggled, and hot tears began to run down his face. Raven couldn't control them, a natural response to agony, and this only infuriated him more.

The heat from both the fires and his body grew too much, and Raven fell limp once more in the burning wreckage of the Geno Saurer.

~*~

Splash.

Wincing, Raven turned his head onto the side. His eyes fluttered open, presenting him only with haphazard blurs. He blinked a few times and could finally see what was around him. A dense forest surrounded the area, yet stopped at the edge of a dirty sand strip. Faint whistles and clicks reverberated through the trees.

Shifting slightly he became aware of a peculiar feeling from his stomach down. Raven pulled his arms back a bit, and painfully pushed himself up slightly. He hurt all over, except below the chest, where he was curiously numb and cold. Lifting his head he looked through his ragged hair.

A lake. It stretched out in front of him to the other side of the sandy bank. Hardly a couple hundred metres wide, it was more like a large pond. The surface was utterly still, mirroring the dusky sky above.

Raven could see now that he was half-submerged in the shallows, which explained why he couldn't feel much of his lower body. The cool water was deadening whatever wounds might be there. Wounds . . .

With a flash he remembered the burning and screaming. Choking back a sob, he fell limply onto the sand again. Things he couldn't explain, feelings, were surfacing after being dead for so long. He'd thought they were all gone. Dissolved, vanished, driven out of him by the harsh life he led.

He had been wrong.

It all came crashing down. All the lies he'd told himself, the barriers, the false persona; they all cracked and broke apart. The pain and reality was too much for him anymore. And he started to cry. Not from the outer hurt, but from the inner.

Lying on the shore of an unknown lake, Raven cried. He cried for his parents: a memory hated, loved and forgotten until this moment. Their deaths had achieved nothing, had gained nothing. Had happened for no reason at all. He cried for the Republican soldiers killed by Prozen, killed after he'd been found. The other soldier; the one who'd wanted to take him back to his home . . . the one who had died first. He cried for Van, dragged into a war with him that had become all too personal and vicious. Countless others he cried for, murdered and tortured by his own hands, destroyed without question or conscience.

And lastly, he cried for himself. The horrible things he'd done. The thousands of people he'd hurt. The terrible life he'd led. He had become an utter monster of hatred and vengeance, never caring about anything. Not even himself. For the longest time, in all of his memory, there had been no 'self'. Only winning and conquering. He had locked himself away. But now he wished he hadn't remembered. The pain was terrible, and there was nothing for him here.

There was a creak from next to him, and a cold metal snout nudged his chest. Raven only cried harder. Shadow had suffered so much, condemned to be his partner, and yet he was still here. He had saved him from the Geno Saurer – there was no doubt – and brought him to this place. After everything he'd done, the organoid remained by his side. The only constant. Raven didn't deserve Shadow, and Shadow didn't deserve to be his slave.

His tears had run out. Continuing to sob dryly, Raven reached up with his right hand, bleeding slowly down his arm. His fingers came into contact with Shadow's jaw, and he stroked him once, heedless of the stabbing pain in his palm.

"I'm sorry, Shadow," he rasped, looking straight into the organoid's blue eyes. "I'm so sorry." Shadow rumbled softly, and dropped his head lower. Bereft of any comfort, Raven was desperate to make the organoid understand. Again he forced himself into a sitting position, and tentatively placed both hands under the organoid's jaw. When he didn't pull away, Raven rested his head against Shadow's and clung to him. He was afraid. Everyone he'd ever reached out to had disappeared. If Shadow left too, he'd be lost.

_Please don't leave,_ he begged silently. _Please . . ._

_'I will never leave your side, Bittersong.' _Raven's eyes snapped open, breathing shallow. He didn't move. Hearing nothing else, it dawned on him that the voice hadn't been heard; it had gone directly to his mind.

"Shadow?" he whispered.

_'Yes.' _His grip tightened in shock.

"Is – is that you . . . talking?"

'It is I. Do not be alarmed.'

"How? You've never . . . I . . ." Raven trailed off, coughing a bit.

'I have long wished to speak with you Bittersong. But I could not. The walls of your mind would allow no entrance. You were closed off. Yet now you have at last opened yourself to me.'

He hadn't opened. He had broken. Despair surged in him again. "Shadow," he breathed. "I can never . . . never apologise enough . . . for what I did. For what I am. I am . . . worthless. A ruined fighter without a soul." He felt Shadow stir a bit. 

_'It is not so. No being is without an ethenai.'_ The strange word echoed in Raven's mind. He sensed on a deeper level that it meant something like the soul and mind, together. This method of speech seemed vague and less structured. _But then, _he realised, _it's not really speaking. It's thinking._

_Maybe . . . but I'm not sure, ShadowDuskwing._ His attempt at speaking with Shadow the same way induced the dual name; one going with the other as though inseperable. _There is something else. Something that destroys me whenever I find myself._

_'I have seensensed it,'_ Shadow replied. Dimly Raven noticed he was starting to feel tired. An odd sensation brushed his consciousness.

"Shadow . . ." he started, feeling the tears slide down his face again. "I don't think . . . I won't be here much longer."

'Your wounds will heal. The deathsleep is not claiming you.'

"I know." He tried to shake off the creeping blankness but failed. "I just know that . . . when I go to sleep . . . I'll be gone. I won't remember . . . anything . . . it's always this way," he finished in anguish. Shadow moved, and with Raven still holding on, lowered the boy back to the ground. Against his will his arms fell away, and he struggled to stay awake. He could see Shadow looking at him solemnly from above.

'Bittersong, you may leave, but I will not. I shall stay with you until you return. For you will. Your ethenai will not stay hidden forever, damaged though it is. You will remember again. And I will be there.'

He tried to hang onto consciousness, but felt it sliding away. Instead, he focused on Shadow's words, repeating them like a mantra in his waning thoughts. His eyes closed.

"Goodbye Shadow," he sighed.

'Until we meet again . . .'

And when he woke, he was gone.

--------------------------

Notes: * 'Mas. Karl's childhood name for Thomas. Thomas doesn't really seem the type to accept "Tommy" as a nickname, and I think 'Mas sounds better anyway. It's pronounced "maas", with a long A sound. Sorta like . . . mars, but without the R.

** Accelerated healing machines. The way I figure it, the people of Zi must have had some kind of medical equipment that healed wounds way faster than what ours do. I mean, a number of Zoid pilots sustained some pretty bad injuries during the show, and then seemed right as rain by the next episode. Of course, that could be time difference, but oh well. We're going to assume they have accelerated healing, and Raven is getting his gunshot wounds fixed by them.

** Shadow-Sar. The –Sar attachment is an Ancient Zoidian mindspeak term to indicate friendship or good will. Fiona was trying to communicate with Shadow the only way she knew how, and mindspeak involves a lot of vague terms that don't appear in spoken or written language. She wanted to show him that she didn't mean him any harm.

So, here we have the tragic past explained. Quite a hard scene to write that was. Especially all of the mindspeak. I read way too much Obernewtyn for my own good. That's what I was drawing on with the whole mindspeech business.

We're within striking distance of the end now. There are three chapters left, and it's going to heat up a bit. Karl knows something we don't know (though you might have figured out the deal with Thomas by now), and Hiltz is certainly not going to fade away into obscurity. I'll try to start on the next chapter real soon, but I have a lot of assessment tasks at the moment, so I can't promise anything. Thanks for staying with me though, especially those who keep returning to review. I heart you all.

And we'll see if Van comes out of his drug-induced coma.

- Vappa 


	9. Love Is Destructive

Yeah, um . . . I could trot out any number of excuses from school, to boredom, to losing the will to write for my heinous neglect of this fic. But I won't. No apologies, it wouldn't be worth it. Instead, I give you what you came here for. Chapter nine, in its entirety, complete after eight months of screwing around.

I do not own Zoids, nor the title of this chapter (which was lifted from End of Evangelion).

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**I'll Pity You When You're Gone**

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_Nine: Love Is Destructive_

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"Watch out for the wall, Van."

Only just managing to avoid walking smack into the wall, Van shook his head a bit and turned to Karl.

"Thanks . . . I guess I'm still pretty out of it."

"From the battle? I doubt it." He caught sight of the Imperial smirking at him. "Fiona told me about the drugs." Groaning, he pushed his hair back again as he walked down the hall.

"She's so dramatic. They were _painkillers_. So what if they helped me sleep?"

"I'm not attacking you Van. I've taken them myself." Van looked at Karl in surprise.

"You? But you don't seem the type to like dulling your senses." Karl shrugged a bit and returned his attention to the halls ahead.

"I don't. But sometimes you just need to . . . you know?"

"I do," Van said earnestly. _Boy, do I ever,_ he thought to himself. _What with everything that's been going on lately, I'm lucky I didn't go raving mad._ "Did you see Thomas last night? Or, rather this morning?"

"Hm?" The older Schubaltz came out of a temporary lapse of thought. "Oh, yes, I did. He was working again."

"Figures. What on?"

"I haven't got the slightest idea." Karl stopped in front of the briefing room and grinned at Van. "I do know it was circular."

"That narrows it down a lot," grumbled Van, pushing through the door. The briefing room was a fairly non-descript space, not much different from many other rooms in Redstone. However, a large table designed to seat thirty people at maximum took up the main floor area. On days which required a mass gathering of soldiers, officials and other assorted people, it could get pretty loud and confusing in there. Redstone had held one of those types of meetings early that morning, due to the attack from the night before. It had been a fairly subdued one though seeing as all that had needed to be discussed was the cumulative damage and how much of the Empire's money would be used to repair the base. It had amounted to quite a lot.

Fiona and Thomas were sitting at the far end of the table, talking quietly when Van and Karl came in. They broke off their conversation and Fiona waved them over. Van gratefully sank into the chair next to Fiona and took up the cup of coffee she had waiting for him.

"Nice to see you in the land of the living Van," she said, obviously still a bit annoyed about the whole drug business. Seeing as he was in the middle of drinking his coffee, he just opened one eye and waved her sarcasm off with his free hand.

"Come on now, not this early in the morning," said Karl. He idly turned his own cup but didn't drink from it. "We need to talk about this."

"We pretty much did in the other meeting though," Thomas mused, seeming to mentally tick off what had been discussed. "It was all the information on the attack that we had, along with casualties and damage sustained."

"Stuff we know, of course," Van said thoughtfully. "Was there anything important that I missed?" Van had not been in the meeting; he had been sleeping like the dead and enjoying every minute of it.

"Hm, well . . . they said that a number of Zoids had been sabotaged. Those won't be up or running for a few days at least, especially seeing as repairs to the base itself take first priority. Also, the damage done to the power supply will take precedence over everything else. They've restored proper power to the hospital building at least."

_He seems so normal,_ Van thought, watching Thomas. _Like nothing ever happened; no battle, no fight with me, no finding Raven in a store cupboard . . ._ He mentally winced. When would he ever get over the idea of Raven being around again, dead in every way but one? Not ever, he supposed. It was something he had never prepared himself for.

"The team I assembled before I left Desert Heights should be here within the hour," Karl added, checking his watch. "They're traveling with Gustavs, so they would have taken much longer than I did in the Command Wolf."

"Yes . . ." Van commented vaguely. Again, the enigma of the Schubaltz brothers was taunting him. Karl he thought he could understand, to some degree at least. Thomas he was entirely unsure of; he had no idea what the man might do in some situations, and nor did he think anymore that he could judge his personality. The brothers' bond was the thing most confusing to him. Karl was definitely taking on the older brother role. It didn't matter that Karl had explained his early arrival as his duty to the Empire, Van knew better than that. He had torn across the desert to get to Thomas. But there was something else. Something about the way Karl treated Thomas, something very hard to grasp. He had seen a part of it after the incident with Reese, and no doubt it had happened again last night when Karl went to find his brother. Yet Van knew that it was an aspect of themselves that he would never, ever be privy to. And that was fine. There were some things that you just did not tell everyone. He himself was testament to that.

"In any case, we'll need to stay sharp." Fiona's voice broke into Van's thoughts and he tried to pay attention again. "Hiltz proved last night that he's out to get something, and he's not beyond using nasty tactics to get it. He's also smart; we can't deny that. No one's mounted a human invasion in years, not since Zoids came into full military use. There hasn't been any point. But Hiltz saw a way to exploit that fact."

"True. He might have other strange methods up his sleeves as well." Thomas gazed out the window towards the Zoid runway. Three Gunsnipers and a Dark Horn were out for repairs, with one of the Gunsnipers being hardly recognizable as such beyond the long tail gun. "But he obviously needs to mess with the Zoids before he can do much. His force has taken a few beatings and losses recently."

Van blinked at that, suddenly noticing something. "Hey, Thomas. When did you take the bandage off?" Thomas looked over in mild surprise.

"Last night. I think I wore it longer than I should have. Just forgot it was there, I suppose."

"You look much better without it."

"Uh, thanks . . . I think."

"So then," Van said, drumming his fingers on the table. "I guess there isn't much to do but wait."

"Seems that way," sighed Karl. They were silent for a while, each pondering the tenuous peace that hung over the base. Karl grunted as he stood up. "I hate inaction."

---

The air around Redstone was tense with anxiety all day, expecting retaliation. Rubble was cleared, rough wooden scaffolds erected, and power boards replaced where possible. No attack came. Slow repairs were made to the destroyed buildings, and even slower to the Zoids. The equipment on base for mechanical engineering and Zoids maintenance had been destroyed in the attack, and so they had to make do with the meager supplies that Karl's team had brought for the time being.

First to become fully operational again was the hospital wing. Thankfully it had not been specifically targeted for destruction; rather, they had disabled the parts of it that were needed most. Spare generators and power cords were found and brought in from Desert Heights. Raven was shifted from the tents to the same room he had been in, and through the use of the accelerated healing machines his gunshot wounds were healed. Still he was unresponsive to most people, but the doctor noted that he was eating better than the report from Doctor Sharlen had indicated.

Though she had looked for him, Fiona could not find Shadow anywhere on the base after the first morning he'd been found. There had been no reports of him beyond that, and so she took that to mean that the organoid had taken off again. It bothered her slightly but the fact that Shadow had been rarely seen before the attack seemed to show that he roamed far, and was not often very close to Raven. She had no doubt though that the organoid would reappear in a flash should any danger make itself known.

On the third day after the attack, a transmission came in from another Imperial base. It was a distress signal, and an hour after they had received it another call came in requesting aid from any nearby bases. They had been assaulted by armed forces on foot: Hiltz's forces. Redstone was in no position to help and, much to the chagrin of Van, could only stand by. Within the first week of the attack, another five were reported, all in Imperial territory. All of the bases were hit in the same manner as Redstone with no member of Hiltz's force being apprehended for questioning. A huge number of Zoids, rising into the hundreds became useless or compromised. The Imperial army was growing angrier at the lack of retaliation being made against Hiltz. Reports came in from Gaigalos of an attempt at assembling a task force to seek out and destroy Hiltz and his men, but nothing conclusive could be done for the present. All available Zoids within a hundred mile radius of the affected bases were called in to the rebuilding effort.

Van and Karl grew more restless as they entered the second week. Both of their Zoids, the Command Wolf and the Liger were fully operational. Karl often went on wide-ranging scouts into the dead lands around Redstone, but came back each time empty handed. Van on the other hand was having trouble enough with just piloting the Liger. Though he had modified the controls to accept one-handed piloting, it was proving much harder than he'd thought to actually pilot. He had grown so accustomed to the dual joystick configuration that having to rely on just one was a serious setback for him. He spent most of his spare time coming to grips with it, doing slow trial runs around the base, with the occasional aid of Zeke for firing. Shooting and piloting simultaneously just could not be done anymore.

With the Di Bison in a worse state than any other Zoid on the base, there was little for Thomas to do with it. The parts needed to fix it were now in high demand, and were more readily available in the north. Beyond the removal of melted panels and circuitry, ready for replacements, nothing could be done at present. He dedicated his time to assisting the communications staff, becoming the man to call when the computers broke down, as they often did under the large amount of stress they were placed under from incoming distress signals and complex restructuring of the telephone lines around the base. Van and Fiona often came with him to lunch breaks, but for the most part he stayed alone. Karl observed Thomas from a distance, watching for signs that only he would be able to spot. With his duties as a commanding officer, he rarely got the chance to see Thomas as it was; his old concerns were beginning to be rekindled, but were yet to become a flame.

Throughout it all, Raven waited. He didn't know what for, but he knew that he was waiting. Ever since he had woken up, he had felt a slight tug at the back of his mind, within the haze of his thoughts: something was going to happen, and he would be involved. For now, he merely allowed the medical staff to do their work. The girl visited him a few times, but he paid little attention. He just watched, and waited.

And so it was that the tenth day since Hiltz's assault came.

---

Sighing, the soldier arched his back in a stretch before resettling against the wall. The white heat of the sun beat down upon Meine Base, making the air sizzle and waver. Despite the endless stream of distress calls and reports of attacks upon other nearby Imperial bases, and being told over and over again that they needed to be on high alert, he just could not find the motivation to stay utterly focused. It was the heat. The little strip of shade he'd managed to score off his friend for this watch did nothing against the temperature; a couple of degrees cooler, if that. And what with all the haze in the air, it was difficult to see anything properly.

Still he continued to scan the scorched yellow horizon for anything approaching. His shift would be over soon, and then he would be able to get a drink. Preferably with alcohol.

"Hey, Turner," came a voice from his left. Turner looked to find another soldier approaching.

"Taking my place now, Andy?"

"Yeah, and you know I'm not happy about it," Andy grumbled, rearranging the rifle on his back. "It must be a hundred degrees out here!"

"Actually, my watch says it's 43 degrees but that's enough for me as it is." Pulling back from the wall, he gave Andy a mock-salute. "Man your post with honour, soldier."

"Oh shut it, Turner, you know I have a headache."

"Communing with the bottle again last night then?"

"Don't say that!" hissed Andy, glancing around. "If that snitch Jones walked around the corner . . ."

"You'd be very, very unlucky indeed."

"What with how my luck's been lately, I wouldn't be surprised." Turner was about to reply when he heard something. A distinct whistling sound. He looked at Andy in confusion mere seconds before all hell broke loose.

The wall they were standing against exploded violently, shattering into pieces that were hurled through the sky and into the ground. Flinging themselves to the ground they covered their heads as concrete and dust rained down. "What in fucking hell!" shouted Turner, scrambling up from the rubble to his feet. Just then another high-pitched whistling sound went overhead and another explosion rocked the ground. "It's bombs!" cried Andy as he followed a swift black blur across the sky. A split second later the building across to their left burst asunder, chunks hailing across the tarmac.

Skirting out of the way of the falling rubble Turner's ears were assaulted by a sudden cacophony of whistling, explosions and gunfire. Looking around wildly he saw the source of the gunshots. A large group of men had appeared unexpectedly ahead of them, dressed in uniforms of a sandy colour. They swept in so fast that they barely had time to react. Getting a hold of his wits faster than Turner, Andy pulled him sideways into a wall as they blitzed past, apparently not noticing them. As he wondered how they could have missed him Turner watched them running towards one of the roads. They had nearly reached it when their ranks were pierced by others, stark against their light clothes in their grey uniforms. The Imperials in the base had been their target!

"Come on!" shouted Andy, dashing off with rifle raised towards the fray. Turner belted after him, unhooking his own gun as he ran. Without warning another explosion demolished a building sending wall and stone and sand across his path. He staggered back quickly, cut off from Andy and the warring soldiers. Swearing, he went left around the edge of the dust storm. It was his duty to protect the base at all costs but every step he took threw obstacles in his path.

Finally clearing the newer patch of strewn garbage he found the base in pandemonium. Shouts and cries were everywhere, and where he had seen only one concentrated assault before he now saw wild fights everywhere. The enemy men were working in teams of five or ten, driving in wedges through the Imperials to get to the buildings and power supplies. He ran through them, felling a sand-coloured man with a shot when he leapt at him. Having no clear idea of what was the most important thing to protect, Turner thought only of finding Andy or his commanding officer in the tumult. Overhead the bombs continued to fall, devastating the buildings and runways all around, making it impossible to see where he was going.

He beat an invader to the ground and then shot him through the middle before leaping over him. _If I can get to higher ground_, he reasoned desperately,_ I can see where I'm needed most_. A huge cascade of wall had collapsed against the F building, where the privates bunked. Seeing that it reached nearly to the roof he quickly jumped onto it, hurriedly scrambling up the dangerously loose cement and bricks. He grabbed hold of the roof guttering with his hands and hauled himself up. Turning, he looked around.

Confusion reigned in Meine Base. Everywhere he looked there were churning masses of light and dark men fighting to the death. Quickly he aimed his gun again and began to snipe a group of the invaders who were wearing down three Imperials fighting savagely in a corner. He scanned the base again looking for more targets when he saw the Zoid hangars. He was not close to them and so could only vaguely see what was happening. It looked as though the brunt of the assault was being concentrated there. Nodding to himself Turner was about to jump down from the building and go aid them when something else caught his eye. A flare of red in an otherwise burnt out landscape. He squinted, shielding his gaze against the sun. It was a man, with red hair, striding purposefully across to the Zoid hangars. However, when he got within a few hundred metres of them he turned, going left instead. The battle did not seem to touch nor bother him. As he watched, Turner suddenly realized where he was going. Gasping in shock he recklessly jumped the full distance down to the ground. When he landed his knees buckled and he rolled a few metres. A light-uniformed enemy soldier appeared above him with his gun leveled at his head. Without deliberation Turner lashed out with his feet, knocking the man off balance whilst leaping up. He grabbed hold of the gun but the man refused to let go. The man pulled hard on his gun, bringing Turner down on him. A frenzied fight enveloped the two, clawing and punching to gain the upper hand. In a moment of confusion Turner wrested the man's gun away from him and fired it, killing him.

Dazed and unsteady he got back to his feet and started running again. He had wasted too much time with that scuffle; the red-haired man would surely be at his destination by now. Deciding to take the shortcut through the winding back alleys of the buildings Turner played a dangerous game of chance, nearly losing his footing many times on the debris and glass littering the way.

He burst out of the last enclosed path and ran full speed towards the low-slung hangars that held the Empire's experiments. The man had been going this way. The doorway was wide open and he went in unopposed. Having been there many times on his break he quickly darted through the short hallways and emerged in the cavernous main body of the hangar. He caught a vague glimpse of scaffolding and metal before something hard and heavy slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Winded he looked up to find a monster's face glaring at him, vicious teeth bared in a metallic snarl. Shocked for a moment he didn't even register that the reptilian face darted back, prepared to strike. About to die, he was saved by a commanding voice from the side.

"Ambient, here! We have no time to waste with trash!"

The beast jumped off Turner, leaving him coughing and gasping on the floor. Pulling himself back up he saw the man with flaring red hair above him on a scaffold. Sensing his gaze, he turned. And Turner recognized him, from the numerous wanted bulletins now circulating the Empire. Smirking, he gave a mocking salute before stepping off the scaffold into the cockpit alongside it. The matching red monster, a crimson metal-plated thing that looked like a miniature Zoid, shot off the scaffolding as well and blasted a hole through the wall ahead, roaring as it went. There was a groaning sound as the restraints holding the Zoid the man had just entered snapped and broke. Shaking free of the ripped metal, it gave a bellow and charged through the wall, escaping the hangar and the base at the speed of sound.

Panting, Turner staggered over to the red emergency phone on the wall. He felt extraordinarily grateful as someone picked up on the other end, asking him in a tense anxious tone what was going on.

"It's Hiltz! Hiltz has stolen the experimental Lightning Saix! He's stolen it!"

---

Shadow peered into the dark maw of the cavern from a distance. Blackness blocked everything from sight within the first few steps, but there was no mistaking the cold air that billowed out of it. The organoid stared fixedly a while longer, before turning and trotting away across the stony red earth.

The cavern led under the ground somewhere; the scent of deep, solid rock made it undeniable. Under the ground, something was concealed. Shadow could feel it, a presence of menace and power. It had drawn him towards this place, this opening in the ground, but the organoid was not going inside. His finely tuned sense could feel the insurmountable strength there and he knew that it would be the death of him to investigate and risk its awaking.

Dark claws pausing, Shadow twisted his long neck back to survey the cavern again. An unassuming wide opening in the low-slung hill, cut into the reddish stone. Jagged edges, curved, too low to allow any Zoids to enter successfully.

To Shadow, it screamed _unnatural_.

The burning sun had begun its descent towards the horizon. Within a couple of hours it would fall out of sight in a fire of death, only to reemerge in the east and live again.

Many things had been happening. Human things, and Zoid things. Shadow had seen the destruction and burning of bases across his roaming path. From the air above he had witnessed an attack in progress. As always, humans alone had swarmed through the artificial constructions like locusts, tearing at foundations and life. As always, they soon disappeared, leaving not a whisper of their presence but the carnage of their deeds. The obsidian organoid had never descended to help or hinder those being attacked; he only observed. He had no wish or need to take part in these power struggles, for the only person who could persuade him otherwise was no longer a part of such things.

And yet, the attacks bothered him. They were only precursors, in Shadow's mind, to a doom that the humans, not even the Ancient Zoidian girl, had not foreseen. A doom that was hibernating in the deep places of Zi. Hibernating beneath the very same cavern a mere fifty metres behind Shadow.

A sound, like the shrill tearing of the air, snapped Shadow's attention back to the land in front of him. It was growing closer, just beyond a rise that obscured his vision. Spikes flexing in anticipation, Shadow growled softly and lowered his head; he recognized this sound. However, it did not match with the silver organoid's sound pattern. This was something else.

Shadow watched as a red flash appeared above the rise hurtling in his direction. The organoid, as it must surely be, seemed to then notice Shadow, standing conspicuously in the open. It emerged out of its vibrant energy shape and took on its metal form: dark red, with long spines, and sharp green eyes.

The red organoid dropped to the ground before him, claws slicing deep into the dirt under the impact. Following the momentum from its dive it whipped its head down to glare darkly at Shadow. The red organoid snarled open-mouthed, a clear predatory threat.

Shadow responded with a long hiss, moving his body lithely to display his spikes at their most prominent. The red one advanced a step, snapping its head up to a more intimidating height and snarled again, the same message. _Get away from my territory._

Shadow raised his own head and bared his teeth, rumbling deep in his throat. This new organoid was volatile. If he made a move, even to leave, it would try to tear him to shreds. Shadow was a threat to be dealt with, said the frenetic glitter in its green eyes.

Making a lightning fast movement to the left the red one continued to growl and snap. _Trespasser_. It dashed to the right. _Threat_. Snap left, closer to Shadow. _Deathdeathdeath_

The red organoid struck out with its teeth. Shadow flashed right out of the way, hissing, and snapped in with his own jaws. The red one dodged, howled in frustration, and struck again, this time at Shadow's partially unfurled wings. It caught the left one in its mouth and clamped shut. Shrieking in fury Shadow latched onto the spine protruding from the red organoid's back, digging his teeth in and pulling hard.

"Well well, Ambient, what have you caught?"

Shadow released Ambient's spine, though it maintained its death grip on his wing, to turn and see where the broadcast voice had come from. Unnoticed by the scuffling organoids a dark black feline Zoid had approached, and it now stood before the two. Shadow looked up at the fangs of the Zoid, its body smoking from its supersonic run across the desert. There was a deep chuckle of laughter from the pilot.

"The pet of the renegade – or should I say, 'former renegade'. How interesting that you discovered this place on your own."

The Zoid opened its jaws in a low, mechanical growl, baring its arm-length teeth. Apprehension crawled through Shadow like insects as he tried to wrench free of Ambient's mouth, to no avail. The catlike head of the Zoid dipped closer to him, and he could see the form of a man behind its sinister eyes.

"Interesting _indeed_. . ."

---

Raven started, and sat up.

The subdued noises of the hospital wing rang faintly in his ears, punctuated sporadically by the clang or crash of some construction work. Those sounds were ordinary. What he had just felt was not.

Unkempt hair falling into his eyes, he turned to look out the window. The sky was a sun-leeched blue, darker with the encroaching sunset. He blinked. Without hesitation he flipped the sheets off himself and dragged his unfamiliar feet to the ground. He stood, unbalanced for a moment, before righting himself and then began to methodically pull the intravenous drip from his arm.

Tossing it aside Raven crossed to the far side of the room, where a shabby cardboard box sat in a corner. Hefting the box onto a chair with some difficulty, he took out the rough Hessian shirt inside. Memory distantly retained the fact that this was his. He also removed the long, black and purple body suit.

As he changed, fumbling with half-familiar clasps, Raven's mind was ringing. Barely anything had changed; his mind was still stifled utterly by the fog, but a few moments ago something had lanced through with a clarity that was almost painful. He didn't even understand what it was exactly. The feeling was similar to the dormant instincts in its obscurity. However, it was different to those, he knew this. This feeling, whatever it was, had compelled him absolutely to move. It had felt like nothing more than a cacophony of mindless noise, panicky and angry and desperate all at once, and it pulled at him relentlessly. He could not let it be.

He finished with his boots and straightened up again. There was an odd buzzing in his ears and jittery tingles danced along his skin. He ignored them, and crossed to the door. Looking out he found the corridor quite deserted and slipped into it, walking steadfastly down the right branch. _Wrong,_ protested the instincts, rising from the depths again. _Dangerous_. He ignored those too. The new feeling was overriding everything.

Raven paused at the end of the corridor to survey what was around the corner. The left passage proved to lead into the hospital wing proper; he could see people moving at the far end. To his right was a wall. Or rather, the remnants of one. A large hole gaped in it, strewn around with rubble and dirt. It was preferable.

After struggling briefly through the hole, Raven dropped down low to the ground and allowed the instincts to gain some control. His eyes scanned the viewable portion of the base quickly, landing on buildings, repair teams and terrain vehicles. A series of tall corrugated iron sheds rose above the buildings towards the left. _Zoid__ hangars._

He set off, more swiftly than his weakened state should allow, ducking in and out of alcoves and doorways. Busy as they were with repairs, not one soldier noticed him.

Raven halted at the door of the nearest shed and had to cling to the handle to hold himself up. The exertion of the last few minutes had caught up with him and his tired body was protesting any further moves. A dull ache had settled in his chest; an ache that recalled to his mind what had happened the last time he left his bed. The memory of that even was fragmented, distorted with terror and pain, but far clearer than any other he had. The call from within his mind though would not be relegated to second place.

Pushing through the door Raven shut it behind him. The Zoid hangar he had entered proved to be occupied by ten odd Zoids, each of different makes and colours. Using the instincts, Raven crossed the concrete floor towards the nearest. It seemed to his mind the best available Zoid for his purpose. As he hauled himself up the ladder of the Zaber Fang, he also found that it was familiar somehow.

The cockpit hatch snapped shut behind him. For a moment he merely sat and regained his breath. Flicking his gaze towards the hangar doors, Raven placed his hands on the control sticks and executed the Zoid's warm-up.

The Imperial soldiers outside barely had enough warning to fling themselves out of the way as the red Zaber Fang burst through the hangar doors, weaved down the rubble of the main runway and sped off into the distance, into the setting sun.

---

"I just don't understand what he hopes to achieve by this," Fiona sighed in frustration.

Van turned to look at her. "You mean besides crushing us all into the dirt?"

"You know what I mean, Van." She paused in front of the tactical map of the Gailos Empire. "What is the point of hitting these bases," she swept an arm out to indicate the red flags pinned to the map, "in the way that he did?"

Van regarded the map again, trying to ignore the flurry of movement and voices behind him. They were standing in Redstone's secondary command centre, and the place was a hub of activity at the best of times; now, at the worst of times, it was twice as busy and thrice as distracting. He picked at the lightweight cast still bound around his arm. Somewhere behind them, he could hear Karl belting out orders left, right and centre. He didn't know how the man could handle it, being bombarded with so many questions and expected to have the magic solution to all of them. He supposed it came with the rank of major.

He looked at Fiona, frowning slightly. Fiona had seemed out of sorts for the past few days. Sometimes she would lose track of a conversation and stare at things he couldn't see, and he knew for a fact that she had not been sleeping well. The dark lines under her eyes told him as much. Now, she was focusing so hard on the map of Gailos that he thought she might burn holes in it.

Leaning forward, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to drag her attention away from the map. "You don't look well; maybe you should take a nap."

"I don't need a nap," she muttered distantly, still furiously appraising the map with its random scattering of red flags. "There's something we're missing." Van blinked.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, exactly," she said. "It's like . . . like there's something I can feel that hasn't been taken into account. Something horribly important."

They were quiet for a minute. "You haven't been sleeping well," Van said in an undertone. Finally Fiona turned to look at him, discontent in her eyes.

"Yes, I know. I can feel something, I just don't know what."

"Is it an Ancient Zoidian . . . thing?"

"Probably. It's so frustrating, like it's just out of reach. It's got something to do with-" Fiona broke off all of a sudden, a shocked look on her face. The din of noise behind her continued without a break, yet it felt very quiet to Van at that moment.

"Fiona? Fiona, what is it?" He shook her a bit, distressed at her lack of response. "Fiona!"

She blinked, and then looked at the map again. "Oh, no . . ." she whispered. Before Van could respond she darted off to the side, towards one of the internal phones on the wall. He followed, at a loss. Fiona took up the phone and hammered in some numbers. She waited with a tense look on her face as it rang. "Nurse? Give me the status of the patient in room 305." A pause. "No, I already know that. Check on him!"

"Fiona, what are you doing?" pressed Van. "You're scaring me." She paid him no attention, waiting for an answer on the other end of the phone. Even through the noise of the command centre he heard the voice of the nurse when they returned, sounding frantic. Fiona pressed a hand to her free ear, attempting to cut down the noise.

"What do you mean, _gone_?" Another pause. "Just like that? When was the last round? . . . Ten minutes ago. So he might still be . . . his clothes are missing too?" Van was starting to get very apprehensive; there was only one person Fiona would be enquiring about, and what he was hearing did not make him feel at ease. "I see," Fiona breathed. "Thank you, please do it." She hung up.

She wouldn't look at him, but Van knew. "Raven is . . . ?" he began, but found himself unable to answer. Fiona nodded, giving him a haunted look.

"Major! Major Schubaltz!" came a cry from the other side of the room. They both turned, along with everyone else, to stare at the soldier who had run in. Karl turned as well, striding up to the winded soldier.

"What is it, private?" The man caught his breath, a panicky look in his eyes.

"It's one of the Zaber Fangs, sir. It's been taken without permission. We think it was stolen."

"A Zaber Fang?"

"Yes, just now sir. Nearly ran down some officers before it took off on a bearing of north east." Karl stared at the man for a moment before turning to look at Van from across the room. A flash of understanding passed between them; Karl knew what Raven's piloting history was as well as Van did.

Fiona, however, was not paying attention to what they were doing. She had crossed back over to the map of Gailos. She traced her finger around the red flags. "Of course," she whispered, "north east. I see now."

"See what?" Van asked, hurrying up next to her. "Do you know where he went?"

"Yes. I see the pattern now, too. All these base strikes have been apparently random, but that's not true. They've been starting further away, and coming in closer as time's gone on . . ."

"Fiona, you're not making sense. Further from what?" She turned to look at him, and he could not read her expression.

"The caves of the Rarehertz. The bases that have been attacked . . . they've all been within a couple hundred kilometers of the Rarehertz caves. And I think I know," she said, "what it is I've been feeling."

Looking at the map again, Van could now see the pattern. A definite circular shape, with a tiny marker labeled _Rarehertz__Caves_ in the centre. Hiltz was there; that was his base.

Raven had gone north east. The Rarehertz caves were north east from Redstone base.

"Karl!" shouted Van, snatching up a portable communicator from the table. "I'm going after him. There aren't any other Zoids that can be prepped in time. Get Thomas to follow after us as soon as he can, along with a task force of whatever Zoids this base has left. We're going to need them." Van only vaguely heard Karl's confirmation as he rushed from the command centre, with Fiona right on his heels.

The Zoid hangar where the Blade Liger was being held was empty except for Zeke. The organoid noticed immediately Van's anxious attitude and shot into the Blade Liger's side. Scaling the ladder two rungs at a time with one hand, Van thumped down into the control seat. Fiona dropped in behind him as the cockpit slammed shut. Without deliberation he fired up the Liger's controls and forced the Zoid into a run, cursing at the one-handed control method he had to take.

The Liger obliged to his desire for speed, Redstone base receding quickly into the distance behind them. "I'll get him if it's the last thing I do," he growled to himself.

"Van, please, just hurry," Fiona said from the back seat. "Something awful's happened . . . and it might get worse if we don't stop it. We've got to help him."

"What?" he said incredulously, twisting around to stare at her. She didn't answer, just looked ahead anxiously.

Putting her cryptic words aside for the moment, Van hammered the Liger into top speed.

---

He was close now, very close. Raven slowed the Zaber Fang from the breakneck pace he had been keeping, trying to keep his panic from spiraling out of control. A few minutes ago the insistent pulling sensation had abruptly disappeared from his mind, leaving him distressed and confused. The only thing he could think of to do was to keep running towards where it had directed him. Something was very, very wrong.

The rocky ground beneath the Zoid's feet was evening out as he crested a rise. At the top, he gazed down towards a low-slung rock wall a few hundred feet ahead. Incised into the rock face was a deep opening, a cave, leading back into the ground. His hands preformed some more deft movements, and the Zaber Fang slowed further, approaching the wall.

He couldn't make sense of any of it. His instincts were piloting, but everything else was still obscured by his lack of memory. Scanning the area, Raven could not see anything worth noting. It was just a stony ledge in the middle of the desert.

A panel on the control board began to beep, drawing his attention. He could vaguely make out the words 'Proximity Danger' flashing on the screen. Frowning, he looked up again.

A lithe Zoid had emerged from behind a mass of boulders, and was facing him down. His fingers tightened on the control sticks. The communications unit crackled into life, along with a voice.

"I never expected you to come here," said the voice, carrying a hint of amusement. "I'd thought you were permanently . . . broken." The feline Zoid moved a step closer, eyes flaring bright green. Raven's gaze drifted across it, uncertain as to what type it was. His subconscious couldn't identify it.

"You couldn't possibly have thought of it by yourself. I daresay that second rate organoid of yours sent out a distress signal." The man chuckled to himself. "Pity that it did it no good."

Perplexed, Raven surveyed the Zoid again. His gaze caught on something sticking out from its teeth. He squinted, looking closer.

Shards of black, twisted metal emerged from the Zoid's mouth.

In one eternal, painful moment, everything became clear. A violent upsurge below his mind rose up and obliterated the fog of amnesia, shattering it into nothing.

Raven screamed.

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To be continued.


	10. Fragments

Well, here I am again. Only took about three months this time: what a record. There's something I want to note before you read this chapter.

One of the problems I've had with this story is that it's been going for a long time now. Too long. Considering that I came up with the majority of the plot at least two years ago, when I was fifteen, I've had difficulty reconciling it with myself now. The fact is, some of the ideas I liked back then are not ideas that agree with me now. This chapter contains an idea like that. However, I couldn't cut it out or change it too drastically, because it's integral to the plot. Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I found writing that particular scene very hard, because I didn't really agree with it as much as I used to. That's my lesson to you guys: finish what you start before you start questioning it, or you'll end up wanting to bang your head into the desk repeatedly. On that note…

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_**WARNING:**_ This chapter contains a graphic depiction and mentions of suicide. If this affects you in a bad way, please do not read it. I won't be held responsible if you do. It also has some foul language.

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**I'll Pity You When You're Gone**

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_Ten: Fragments_

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The sun was melding into the cauldron earth of Zi. It was a relatively short distance to the Rare Hertz caves, but Van felt like they were mired in a bog, hardly making progress at all.

Try as he might, he couldn't come up with even the beginnings of a plan for when they caught up with Raven. His mind was still grappling with this sudden change in reality. He had only just begun to accept that Raven was in a state where he wouldn't cause any harm, and now he had whipped around a full 180 degrees and charged off.

Grinding his teeth, Van glared ahead at the landscape, keeping his anger restrained. He didn't want to do anything careless again, after what had happened to Thomas.

However, he was not quire sure that he wanted to keep his rage from Raven.

"He's going down this time," he growled. "I won't stand by and let him do what he wants." The rhythmic gait of the Blade Liger pounded in his ears.

"Van, please," Fiona spoke into the silence. "Please don't do anything rash."

"Rash? The only _rash_, stupid thing I did was save his miserable life."

"It wasn't stupid," she whispered. "It was the right thing to do. He needed help."

"And look how he's repaid us!" snapped Van. "The conniving bastard's probably planned this all along." A hand landed on his shoulder, firmly.

"Whatever you might think, Van, I don't believe that Raven has had a single malicious intent since he reappeared." There was a trace of steel in her voice, which forced Van to hold his tongue. "You're upset, and that's understandable. But please, _don't_ charge in there with blind fury. I don't want to see you hurt like that again."

Taken aback, Van felt the bulk of his anger dissipate as he realised that she was right. He was angry about Raven's flight, but he was also scared. Scared both by what might happen, and by his complete dedication to eliminating the threat. To killing Raven. Again.

He'd almost torn himself to pieces over what he had done before, and Raven's re-emergence had broken his perceptions. What would happen if he once again destroyed Raven without a thought?

He sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm just … worried."

"I know," she said. "I know you don't like it, but I'm worried about Raven too." Van said nothing. "I fear that there won't be any way back to him, after what just happened."

Van had to put Fiona's odd words aside as the Liger began to climb a slight rise. They were right on top of the Rare Hertz region, and his scanners were flashing proximity warnings. Disturbingly, he could hear the screech of metal and crashes through the walls of the cockpit.

The Liger finally crested the hill, giving them a panoramic view of the rock-addled valley below. Fiona gasped. Van felt himself go rigid with shock.

It was his nightmare incarnate.

The Zabre Fang shrieked in rage, its teeth tearing a ragged hold in the other Zoid. It was barely recognisable, decimated as it was by the Fang's furious assault. Rearing back, the Zabre Fang plunged its claws into the Zoid's body, gouging out its armour and circuits.

Van watched, transfixed in horror, as the core of the ruptured Lightning Saix was exposed, crackling and fizzing. The Zabre Fang let out another unearthly roar before its jaws flashed in, ripping into the heart of the core. The death cries of the Zoid were drowned out by the rending of metal and gnashing of the Fang's teeth.

"Oh … dear God …" Van choked out, unable to stop watching the murderous display. Mangled shreds of the Saix were flying everywhere as the Zabre Fang whipped its head from side to side, trying to wrench the shattered core out.

Van spotted, to his complete astonishment, the cockpit of the attacked Zoid edge open, bit by bit. He saw an arm grope for a hold before pulling the rest of the body out. There was a flash of red hair, and then Hiltz was running across the sand like the devil himself was after him.

About to snap out of his daze and give chase, Van was startled by his communications unit shrieking into life. "_You fucking bastard!_" came the scream he knew only too well. "_I'll kill you!_"

The Zabre Fang crashed forward onto its chest, making Van jump. Its cockpit burst open and Raven shout out of it. He charged after Hiltz and was closing the distance amazingly fast. Even though Hiltz was sprinting as fast as he could, and Raven should have been physically incapable of running at all, he wasn't going to be able to escape Raven's fury.

"Quick, we've got to stop them!" Fiona cried, even as Van was hammering his own cockpit button frantically. He vaulted over the side of the cockpit and almost jumped the twelve metres down the ladder. In his haste his right arm, still in plaster, bashed against the ladder rungs. The fresh burst of pain made him cry out, but he ignored it as best he could as he started to run after Raven. He could hear Fiona falling behind, unable to keep up with the breakneck speed they were running at.

About a hundred steps ahead of Van, Raven launched himself at Hiltz and dragged him to the ground. In a heartbeat he was all over the taller man, lashing out at his head and screaming. Hiltz struggled under Raven's assault, landing a few punches of his own, but couldn't break free from the renegade's frenzy.

Van had almost closed the distance when Raven slammed a fist straight into Hiltz's temple with a sickening thud. Hiltz stopped moving all together, yet Raven did not let up at all.

Finally upon them, Van flung out his arm and wrenched the screaming Raven away by the waist. Raven fought tremendously to get back to Hiltz, and Van, unprepared, lost his grip easily. Flinging himself back on top of the unconscious Hiltz, Raven began tearing at his face with his nails. Van could now make out some of the words amongst the incoherent yelling, and it was an eerie echo of that last battle he had fought against the Geno Saurer. "I'll kill you ! Bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I'll tear you apart!"

Van hardened his resolve and dragged Raven off Hiltz again. It was like trying to hold thunder in his bare hands. "Stop it, Raven!" he shouted above the other's rage. Raven didn't seem to pay him any attention whatsoever, and just fought furiously to break free. "Stop it!"

Raven's head snapped around and Van felt the full white-hot glare of his eyes. "Get the _fuck_ off me, Flyheight!"

"No," he yelled back, "I'm not letting you go!" Seething, Raven turned his fury on Van, swinging a fist into his head. Van slammed into the dirt, hard, but didn't allow himself the luxury of getting dizzy. He spun back over and belted Raven across the face. Momentarily dazed, Van seized his chance and trapped him with both arms, ignoring the stabbing pain of his right.

In a far tighter grip than before, Raven had one arm pinned to his back and was unable to escape. He tried to claw at Van with his free arm, but Van took the scratches without breaking his hold. With a howl of frustration Raven attempted to grab Hiltz's boot, mere inches away, but couldn't reach that either.

Van, on his knees now, was shocked at Raven's apparent strength. By all accounts he was weak and practically bedridden; yet Raven was fighting with a strength that was frightening.

"Let me go!" Raven was shrieking, still clawing at the air towards Hiltz. Blood ran down his hand where he had slashed open Hiltz's skin. "I'll kill him. He's a bastard. Let me go!"

"I'm not going to," Van said steadily, reigning in his own frustration. This had an adverse effect on Raven as he fought all the more desperately to get at his prey.

"I'll break him in half! He's a fucking bastard! He killed him! I'll destroy him!"

Van's eyes widened, and as he kept his grip on the writhing criminal he came to the logical, awful conclusion.

"I'll kill him for what he did," Raven was still shouting. "He'll pay for what he did to him!"

"What good will come of killing him?" Van yelled back, tightening his arms around his struggling body.

"I don't care! I was to _kill _him!"

"_Killing him won't bring Shadow back!_"

At this, Raven stilled, panting heavily. Van heard his own exhausted breathing in the momentary quiet. For the first time he became aware of Fiona and Zeke standing off to his left, not interfering.

Then Raven started to struggled again, albeit less furiously, to get at Hiltz. Van cursed and held him back. It wasn't through any sympathy towards Hiltz though; he knew that Hiltz needed to be taken alive for questioning. Otherwise, he would have happily let Raven beat him some more.

"Raven, just _stop_. Please," Van panted. "It won't do any good."

"And why the fuck would that matter to me?" spat Raven, turning to glare at Van. Seeing the fury in those eyes again made Van recoil slightly. "I don't care if it does not good, I just want the bastard dead." He slammed his fist into the dirt violently. "He deserves to die a painful death, and _I'll_ be the one to do it. With my bare hands. I won't sink to his level and use a damned Zoid to do it." Face twisted with hate, Raven turned back to Hiltz's body. "He's a bastard. That's all he is. He killed Shadow. He killed him." Raven swallowed a bit. "He tore him to pieces. Ripped him apart. He deserves the same." Lapsing into silence, Raven continued to look at Hiltz's bloody and beaten face. He had stopped struggling. "It's not fair," he muttered. "It's not fair." Van now found himself holding Raven up as he slumped. "It's not fair!" he shrieked, voice breaking.

Van took his arms away, leaning away from Raven as he clapped his bloody, damaged hands against his head. "It's not fair," Raven sobbed. "Why did he die? He said he'd be there when I came back." A gasping sob shook his body. "He said he'd be there. Just like all the rest!"

Van had no words. He could only watch, in a kind of miserable haze, as the greatest tormentor in his life succumbed to grief. There had been a time when he'd pitied Raven for being dead; now it was excruciating to watch him live.

To his left, Fiona was watching with a hand over her mouth, tears glittering in her eyes. The mangled wreck of the Lightning Saix sent out spurts of smoke and electricity, completely forgotten by the four of them.

"It never ends," Raven half-growled. "It just never ends. Anything I try to hold on to disappears. They all die, all of them. Why do I even try any more? Why do _they_ try? I should just kill them all now before they have the chance to try."

Fiona took a step forward. "Raven . . ." she started, but Raven dragged his eyes up from the ground to glare at her.

"Don't you dare come near me. Don't you dare touch me. Don't you even think you feel sorry for me." Tears still ran down his face, but the anger and pain in his eyes made them unreal. "You feel sorry for me and you'll die. Just like my parents. Just like that soldier. And just like him," Raven whispered angrily, pointing towards the wreckage of both the Lightning Saix and Shadow. "That's all I'm good for. Killing things."

Van watched Raven's back, feeling that he should say something, anything, but unable to think of what. Raven shook his head, swiping his bleeding right hand across his eyes.

"I don't want this. I don't want to remember anymore. It was better when I was dead . . ." His voice dropped to a tired murmur. "I can't take it. But at least I know I won't have to . . . once I stop thinking . . ." Wavering slightly, he stared at his scarred and bleeding palm. "All I wanted was to go home, father."

Raven teetered and fell onto his side in the sand. Fiona gasped and rushed forward. Van was already there, checking his pulse. "Van, is he-"

"No," Van said quietly, removing his fingers from Raven's neck. "He just passed out. He isn't fit enough to even be out of bed." He regarded Raven's ashen face for a long moment.

Then, he reached behind his belt and unhooked the handcuffs hanging there. Fiona watched him with wide eyes as he rose on one knee, snapping the cuffs open. "Oh, Van," she protested in despair. Ignoring her, Van got to his feet.

Walking past Raven's slumped form, he stopped next to Hiltz. He unceremoniously shoved a boot under his back and kicked him over onto his stomach. As he locked the handcuffs around Hiltz's wrists, he heard the telltale rumbling and pounding that announced a Zoid battalion's arrival.

Turning back to Raven, Van avoided Fiona's eyes as he picked the renegade up in both arms. He then turned to her concerned face. "I'll take him back to the base hospital. You felt something strange coming from this place, didn't you?" She nodded. "I think you should help Thomas and the soldiers figure out what to do about it then. I'll come back for you after I drop him off."

She shook her head. "That's okay. I can get a ride back with Thomas. You should get some rest." He was silent for a moment, then grunted his assent. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before he started back towards the Blade Liger.

The small, thirteen Zoid squad came to a halt not far away, and Van heard Thomas shout his name. He waited as the Imperial jumped down from a Dark Horn and ran over to him. "I brought the backup you wanted," he said breathlessly. "What should we do?" Van saw his eyes flit over the destroyed Lightning Saix, then over the unconscious Raven in his arms, but didn't say anything about them.

Van suppressed a sigh. "You'll need to take Hiltz into custody; he's over there with Fiona, unconscious. After that, get your men to go inside the cave, with their Zoids if possible, and scout out exactly what Hiltz was doing in there." He paused. "I have to go back to base with Raven. I'll tell Karl that you'll likely be here late into the night."

Thomas nodded, and Van started off again. After a minute of two, he heard Thomas begin to yell out orders. "Okay, I need two of you to restrain the prisoner. Install him in the Shield Liger, and make sure he's secure. It's not outfitted for prisoners, so make do. Brody, you inspect the Lightning Saix and Zaber Fang; I'll need a report on what can be salvaged. The rest of you, divide up into a foot-based scout team and . . ."

All the noise and activity behind him faded out as Van returned to the Blade Liger, along with the unconscious body of his old nemesis.

---

Fiona listened to her footsteps ringing metallically across the walkway. Hanging a good one hundred metres above the floor, it was a precarious looking structure, but proved, like most other things in the cave to be sturdy. Sturdy or not, she kept her eyes to the front rather than see the dizzying drop through the grilled path.

The inside of the Rare Hertz cave had turned out to be an impressive base of Hiltz's. Once the crew had passed through the rough-cut rock tunnel, they had emerged into the huge cavern, and found it decked out with everything a military-minded base required. Mapping computers, communication terminals, and numerous Zoid hangars littered the main area alone.

They had not truly begun to sort through the technological stockpile that Hiltz had amassed, but even so they had discovered some disturbing things already.

One of them lay below Fiona's feet.

She stopped in the middle of the walkway and leaned over the railing to look down at the massive tank set in the ground. Full of a glowing blue liquid, the tank held a behemoth of a Zoid that set Fiona's nerves on edge. She could just make out its long shape, spindly legs and coiled tail.

Even though the Imperial technicians had determined it to be in stasis, it still emanated menace to Fiona's senses. It was this Zoid, she was sure, that had been gnawing at her consciousness for days. She was glad that Hiltz had never gotten the opportunity to awaken it.

The vibrations of footsteps drew her gaze away and she looked up to see Thomas approaching.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" he said, coming up to the railing next to her. "Hiltz had a Zoid like this hidden right in the middle of Imperial territory." He shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to give him credit for his audacity."

"It's certainly hard to believe," Fiona agreed. "I'm just glad he had no time to activate it. That must have been why he disabled all the bases in the vicinity."

"And then he used the prototype Lightning Saix to get here as soon as possible. He nearly got away with it, too." Thomas left unsaid that it was Raven's involvement that had saved them.

"So what did Harris say?" Fiona asked. Thomas turned away from the luminous tank to face her.

"He said that all the storage tank's systems check out, so we can go ahead with the freezing. It's the best thing to do, really; the Zoid may be in stasis right now but there's not predicting what a Zoid that old could do, or who might find it. If we freeze it, there's almost no chance of an easy reactivation. I already called Karl, and he's authorized the move. It's just a matter of setting up the systems."

"We should get started then, huh?" said Fiona, grinning. Thomas smiled back and they set off towards the other end of the platform, where the storage tank's diagnostic computer station was. As they walked, Thomas rattled off lists of statistics and speculations about the base that the soldiers had given him, while Fiona interjected occasionally with her own observations and queries. It seemed like there was a lot to catalogue and sort through in this underground hideout, and not all of it was pleasant. Fiona shivered inwardly when Thomas mentioned the discovery of an apparent Zoid core experimentation lab. The manipulation of Zoids always echoed uncomfortably with her.

Thomas flipped up the dust-laden sheets over the computer terminals with a derisive huff. "This stuff is so filthy that it'll be a miracle if it even works."

"I guess Hiltz wasn't into housekeeping," Fiona commented, wiping off one of the monitors with a sleeve. Punching a few buttons, Thomas dropped into a chair and squinted at the screen.

"Well, I suppose not. But even if he was planning to wage a great war, it wouldn't kill him to get his lackeys to clean up a bit." He swiped a finger across the screen and scowled. "I can hardly see anything."

Taking up another chair, Fiona scooted over to the monitor she'd cleaned and booted the system. The screen flashed green for a moment before reverting to black, with a single blipping line at the top. "He wasn't up to par with computers, either. It's a system I've never seen in use before."

"Hrm," Thomas murmured, already typing and filling his screen with prompts. "It's old, all right, but not archaic."

"You mean it's not a lost technology?" she asked, leaning over to see.

"Hardly," he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. "The Gailos army used this system about thirty years ago when the war was escalating again after a brief lull. The Republic had managed to destroy their main three GUI server networks, rendering seventy-three percent of the army's computer systems useless. In hindsight they realized that having their equipment hinge on a centralized network was a bit of a risky move, which is why most bases these days have their own networks connected to a satellite uplink. A few technological officers dug up an old command-based system called Imperiex, tweaked it a fair bit, then put it into use. It was fairly common for the army to use both Imperiex and the normal GUI system in those days just in case the network was compromised again. Of course, they don't have that danger anymore, for a variety of reasons."

"So this is just the Imperiex system?"

"More or less. There are a few odd program names and structures, but it's pretty much the same."

"I see," Fiona said, drifting away to look at the terminals again, and maybe try to find out without the Imperiex system on it. She heard Thomas laugh a bit.

"That's what everyone says, but I know they don't mean it. It's better to pretend you understand that you know what the hell I'm talking about."

"No, well, I," Fiona stammered, caught in a trap. True, she didn't understand half of what Thomas had explained, but she also didn't want to embarrass him. Before she could frame a response in the happy middle ground, Thomas just waved a hand at her whilst continuing to type.

"No, no, don't lie for my benefit. It's fine." Fiona was left feeling guilty as the younger Schubaltz barrelled through line after line of commands at an admirable speed. To occupy herself she started testing all of the terminals. Just as she was about to give up on ever finding a computer with a usable interface, the terminal she was booting up loaded a familiar panel embossed with the Imperial seal.

"I found a normal one!" she exclaimed gleefully. Finally able to work on a system she knew, Fiona felt useful again. "This terminal has a lot of the base's primary systems listed. And … the storage tank diagnostics."

"That's good," Thomas replied, somewhat vaguely. Fiona was about to start altering the controls for the tank when she realized that the program was already moving. Windows flashed up and down, each with rapidly changing statistics. Down in the left hand corner, a smaller window had appeared. It was black with copious amounts of green text scaling past.

_Oh, it's Thomas, _she realized, glancing over at him. _I never knew he could program that fast. _She watched the busy screen with renewed respect for Thomas's skills with technology. It was easy to forget sometimes, what with his bragging and bravado that he really did have the ability to back up his claims.

"Okay then," the Imperial announced. "I've set up the majority of the tank's controlling programs to begin the freezing process. I think the rest needs to be done on your terminal." He got up from his chair and crossed to the far side of the platform as Fiona began priming the system for ignition. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"You're not just letting me do this out of pity, are you? Poor, silly Fiona can't work on the Imperiex system, so we'll let her press the big red 'start' button?" Thomas looked mortified by the very idea.

"Of course not, Miss Fiona!" He'd already started to blush. "You really do need to start the system from that terminal. I wouldn't make fun of you like that."

She smiled at the obviously flustered man. "Don't worry, I know that. I didn't mean it." She turned back to her work, leaving him to gather his wits. After a few minutes, she peered over at him again, to find that he was gazing over the railing at the storage tank. She bit her lower lip, staring unseeing at the computer monitor.

Despite all the work that had been occupying her mind and her own attempts not to think about it, the events of the day were beginning to eat at her. She needed to talk to someone about it, and for once, she didn't think Van was the right person to go to. He was too entangled in the mess with Raven and just mentioning him to Van could lead to bad things. She had seen how he'd reacted to Raven today, but even so, it was too early to gauge how he felt. Fiona wasn't even sure how _she _felt. Somewhere along the line, she'd grown to care about what happened to Raven, but she was not ready to accept him as he really was. As he had been. The blankness and inability to notice what was around him had given her cause to pity him, and there was a certain safety in knowing that he couldn't recognise her. But now…

"Um, Thomas?" she said, keeping her gaze firmly on the monitor.

"Yes?"

"What do you think about what happened today?" Silence. "I mean, I don't know how much of it you saw, but-"

"I picked up a lot of it on my scanners," Thomas said quietly. "Enough to know that Raven is … well, is Raven again."

"In a way," Fiona agreed. She sighed, still fiddling with the controls. "I don't really know what to think about it. I feel like it's a tragedy, though. Raven was awful to everyone who met him, but … all he ever had was Shadow. Now Shadow's gone. It's sad."

Somewhere below them, a series of rhythmic thuds echoed as a Zoid was brought into the main cavern. It all seemed very far away to Fiona, as though the world consisted of this computer-filled platform, Thomas and her.

"I think … I might know how he feels," came Thomas's voice. Fiona swivelled her chair to look at his back. "I mean, I can't pretend I know what it feels like to lose a loved one. But … I can sort of understand how he feels about himself. Some of the pain."

Fiona felt like saying anything, even asking a question, would be the wrong move at a time like this. So she remained silent and waited for Thomas to go on. If he was going to. Even though she couldn't see his face, he was clearly not comfortable with what he was saying. Abruptly, Thomas turned around to face her. The odd luminescence of the Zoid tank below gave him an eerie look, casting half of him into darkness.

"I almost died, once."

A long moment of hesitation passed, where Fiona was unsure whether to respond or not. Finally, she murmured, "How?" Thomas sighed, leaning back on the railing. He looked desperately unhappy.

"Well, it's kind of a convoluted story. I don't know where to even start. I could start where everything began, but that would be unnecessarily long, and I doubt you'd want to hear about it. But it's either that or just the specifics of the event in question, and that needs explaining on its own even if it seems the logical conclusion to me. But you wouldn't understand it on its own, and I just ..." Thomas trailed off, burying his face in his hands in frustration at his own incoherency. "Did Van ever tell you what we talked about that day when Reese took control of Karl's contingent?"

She had to think for a moment, but then Fiona remembered. "He did, sort of. He mentioned that you had fought hard to find something to succeed at. Van didn't talk about it much … I don't think he wanted to betray your trust."

"Oh. I would have thought Van would tell you everything," he said, sounding vaguely surprised.

"Of course not. You're his friend. He didn't feel it was his place to tell me what you had said in confidence." Thomas made a non committal noise, the flicker of surprise drifting away.

"Well, basically what I told him was that, as a kid, I had to live in Karl's shadow. Karl is naturally good at most everything he tries, and he was exceptionally good at physical things like sport and martial arts. Me, on the other hand … I can't do those things.

"I have some ability with technology and machines, but it's hardly anything compared with what other people can do. I've known that for a long time. My parents told me every day.

"Karl and I, we're from a long line of well-respected, illustrious Imperials. The Schubaltz name used to be quite synonymous with high society, from what I've been told. Not so much any more, owing to the decline of the whole idea of 'high society' and the lack of Schubaltzes left. We're traditionally a war family, you see," he added, talking as though he wasn't a part of the story he was telling. "Every Schubaltz man has gone to war to fight against the Helic Republic. It's a matter of family pride. That's partly why there aren't many Schubaltzes left … a lot of the ones in my generation, my cousins and such, they were all killed fighting either the Republicans or the Death Saurer. As of now, there's only Karl, me and two others left from the latest group of military recruits.

"Our parents were particularly … fervent believers in the might of Gailos and the family name. Their drive to keep up the family tradition of military service took up all of their time. And ours.

"They'd always been proud of Karl. He was the model son. Unfortunately, they then had me. I don't know if they actually planned to have me to begin with, or if it just happened. Nevertheless I was there. And," he said, voice despondent, "I didn't live up to their expectations.

"I wouldn't say that my parents were the loving sort, but the difference between the attention they gave Karl and the attention they gave me was quite big. It was a matter of pros and cons; with Karl, it was always the pros. With me, always the cons. And there were a lot of them.

"Karl's told me that the way our parents treated me gave me some kind of … inferiority complex." He shrugged half-heartedly, seemingly not too fond of the idea. "I can see why he'd think that, but I don't know. Inferiority complexes generally do come as a result of _being _inferior."

Fiona couldn't, in all decency, let this pass. "But you're not inferior, Thomas. You're so skilled with mechanics, and Zoid repairs, and computer systems. I've met scientists who dream of doing some of the things you've done."

"Those sorts of things don't really measure up in the real world, though. Not really." Before she could protest, Thomas began speaking again. "Anyway … around the time I was fifteen, the war was at a real pressure point. The Republican forces had made some drastic advances with their frontline. The town I lived in was pretty close to an Imperial base, so they'd often come through looking for new recruits. A lot of the people I went to school with had parents like mine; patriotic zealots who told their children to join up, or face the consequences. Being disowned, basically. I got the same threat a couple of times," he stated blandly. "Quite a few of the kids couldn't hack it in the army and they were either discharged, or reassigned to something menial like kitchen duty. That was a real blow to the family's reputation.

"I guess that some just … couldn't take the pressure. Couldn't handle the stress of trying to please.

"One day at school, when I was fifteen, I found a boy dead in the bathrooms." Now Thomas wouldn't look at Fiona. "He'd … slashed his wrists." He twisted at his gloves.

Fiona couldn't imagine the horror of something like that.

"The boy, Nathaniel Davies, he was in Karl's year," Thomas said, sounding uneasy and desperate to fill the silence. "One of the recruitment stations had turned him down. Karl was cut by his death. He was upset for weeks." Thomas's expression turned cold. "Father said that the Empire would not suffer for the loss of a failure like him

"People forgot about it fairly soon … the war demanded everyone's attention. But I didn't forget it. Until that day I hadn't even thought about that concept; people taking their own lives. My parents drilled me endlessly about sacrificing for the country, but this was different. I knew that much. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I don't think I even wanted to.

"My parents decided about three months later that they were going on vacation." A flicker of resentment crossed Thomas's impassive face. "Despite the war, they wanted to take a trip to the mountains. This came just days after I'd received poor grades in combat training. Again. They gave me an ultimatum as they left: shape up, or you're gone."

He heaved a sigh. "I knew I wasn't able to do as good as Karl, and I certainly wasn't capable of doing any better in military classes. My best wasn't good enough. That was the thought they left me with.

"They were gone for just over a month. It was during that time that I nearly died ……"

---

The clock ticked over into another hour: four pm.

Normally he would only now be leaving school, but Thomas had come home earlier. He'd had physical education last, thought it would have been more appropriate to call it drill practice. His instructor, already frustrated with some of the more obnoxious and arrogant boys in the class, had lost his patience with Thomas's performance in the shuttle run. Thomas had fallen behind yet again, and had fallen out of the shuttle run ten minutes before anyone else. He'd been ordered out of the class until he was on par with the other students.

Gritting his teeth against the memory, Thomas struggled to find the logic in it. He understood the instructor's lack of patience with him, but how could he hope to improve without being allowed into the class?

It was just one more humiliating failure to add to the list. At least he wouldn't have to face the scorn of his parents for almost a month yet.

Thomas was overwrought with dark despair. Nothing he tried could get him into the good graces of his parents or his teachers. Only his systems and electronics teacher seemed pleased with him, but Thomas knew that that was a non-point with his parents. Unless he succeeded in the military, he would never be worth anything.

He sighed, flicking a strip of potato skin into the bin. Being home early, he'd decided that he should make dinner for later. Ever since their parents had left a few days ago, he and Karl had simply gotten take out food. Neither of them was good at cooking, but Thomas thought there could hardly be a better time to learn than now, when there was no one to instruct him on all the mistakes he was sure to make. He'd started with peeling the potatoes, because he hadn't yet thought about how to cook the meat. He had a fair bit of time before Karl came home, anyway.

Like most nights, Karl was busy with extraneous clubs and sports. It was a rarity to see him home before five, and often he was out far later. Karl, of course, was given free reign by his parents as reward for his hard work and success in the areas they deemed becoming of a Schubaltz.

Thomas felt marginally better when Karl was around, because it was easier to escape to his room. Karl seemed to notice when his brother was getting worn to the point of breakdown by his parent's berating, and would divert their attention long enough for Thomas to slip away.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Karl had said once when Thomas had admitted that he felt like he was useless. "You're not useless; you just haven't found what you're good at yet."

Wiping the slippery knife handle on his shirt, Thomas picked up another potato. He appreciated Karl's faith in him, misplaced though it was, but he didn't think his older brother really understood just how hopeless he was.

His parents could recognise his uselessness. So could his classmates; not that he'd ever gotten close enough to any of them to find out for sure. He focused so hard on his school work that he had no time to connect with people. Besides, no one would want to be friends with someone like him anyway.

"Look at you," his father's voice echoed in his head, "you don't even _look _like a Schubaltz. Scrawny and pale, like some awful alley cat. We can only help you so much, Thomas, but you've yet to put in the hard yards yourself."

The kitchen felt like it was compressing around him, dark slate tabletops and white paint all unsettlingly close. _Why _couldn't he do better? Because he was some kind of mistake. A Schubaltz was supposed to be good at physical tasks. A Schubaltz was supposed to serve his country. But Thomas wasn't able to do those things. There was something wrong with him.

Unbidden came the image of Nathaniel Davies as he'd found him in the bathrooms. He tried to push it away, but he couldn't. Open doors, sprawled limbs, blood seeping into the wet floor, horrified crying, blood, oh God the blood get me out of here help me help me help me –

Thomas yelped in pain. He looked at his hand. He'd been shaking so badly that, still clutching the knife, he'd cut too far and sliced into his palm. Hurriedly slamming the potato and knife onto the bench, he grabbed for some paper towels, then stopped. He watched the shallow cut begin to bleed.

He had wondered, ever since that day, just why Nathaniel would have done that to himself. He'd circled the answer so often in his mind, but had never been able to figure it out.

Maybe … he had been like Thomas.

Picking up the knife from the table, he studied the edge.

After all, he'd been rejected from the army. The Davies family were renowned for being great military pilots. Just like the Schubaltz family.

The clock ticked dimly in the background.

This respite wouldn't last. His parents would be home sooner or later. And then, then they would find out about his expulsion from physical education for incompetence. Another black mark on his record. He would have used his last chance. And what then?

He made a mistake at first. A horizontal cut would not work well. Further proof that he was incompetent. Changing the knife's position, he went the other way. Better. More efficient. It was harder to do his other wrist. He found it difficult, and painful, to hold the knife properly. But he managed it, though it wasn't as clean as the first.

Shakily, he placed the knife down on the counter. He wasn't sure what to do now. He didn't know how long it would take, or whether it would happen at all. So he just watched his hands, watched as the blood spread over his fingers, fell to the floor, went down his arms.

It might have been a minute. It might have been an hour. He couldn't tell. He realized, belatedly, that he was on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. When did that happen?

He heard a noise from somewhere. Unable to tell what it was, he just let it drift past. The next sound, though, he thought was familiar. Footsteps. And a voice. Someone's … someone he knew.

"Thomas!" it shouted, coming closer. Coming down a hall? "I'm back early from practice, because I really need your help with something. I've got this science assignment due in soon and-" Sudden silence. A loud thump, like a bag being dropped to the floor. "Oh my … _God_ …"

Thomas heard the person, Karl, run away again, feet thundering loudly through the floor. Clattering, clicking … a pause. "Pick up the damned _phone_!" came a yell. "Thank God! I need an ambulance right away! It's my brother, he's … yes, right now … he could die! … number thirty-two Dynasty Parade. And please hurry." A slam. More running.

Thomas was suddenly aware of his brother hauling him up into a sitting position. And then Karl was hugging him desperately. "'Mas, why did you do it? Dear God, I don't understand!" Despite the haziness surrounding him, Thomas realized that his brother was crying. It disturbed him. Karl never cried. A dizzying, awful sensation set in; it was because of him.

"I'm sorry, Karl," he mumbled, finding the act of talking strange. Karl pulled back to look at him, tears running down his face.

"You should have told me. 'Mas, you should have told me if something was wrong," he sobbed. He dragged Thomas back into his arms again and buried his head in his shoulder. Thomas felt distantly mortified at hurting Karl this way. It was all he could do to bring his burning arms up and cling onto his brother.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

---

Fiona could feel tears running down her face. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Thomas, now seeing him laid bare for her. He stared at the ground.

"The ambulance did come in time, of course," he murmured. "And I was fine, eventually. In the physical sense at least." He raised a hand and gazed at his wrist, invisible beneath his shirt and glove. "I've tried not to think about it since. But … recent events, they brought it back to me. I found it difficult to keep my mind on the task at hand. I guess, after hearing Raven today, I just couldn't handle having this all inside anymore." He smiled bleakly. "You know, you're the first person I've ever told this to, Fiona …"

"Oh, Thomas, I'm so sorry," Fiona whispered, getting up from her chair at last and moving closer. He looked up at her.

"It's not your fault. Don't be sorry. It's the price I pay for being me."

"Don't say that. _Please _don't say that. You're such a good person. I … I can't believe you've kept this all to yourself for so long. Why didn't you ever tell us?"

"I don't think Van would understand. He's too … happy. I was afraid that he would dislike me even more if he knew what I'd done. And I didn't tell you because-" He stopped abruptly, colour draining from his face. She stepped up until she was right in front of him.

"Thomas?"

"Well," he said, swallowing. "Because I … sort of … love you." He winced in anguish and turned away. "And I know that you love Van, I can see it. And I couldn't bear the thought of you knowing something like that about me. No one who knows what I'm really like could ever stand having me around anyway." His voice broke. "Why else do you think I act like such an idiot all the time? But it doesn't matter."

Fiona gently reached up and turned his face back towards her. "Thomas," she said, "I don't love you." Thomas's expression twisted, and he managed a nod. Moving her hands to his shoulders, she held his gaze. "But that doesn't mean that I couldn't, given time." He blinked, stunned.

She hugged him then. After a moment, he hugged her back, and she could hear him sobbing quietly. She felt so bad for him, this man who thought that no one could conceivably like him, let alone love him. And what she had said was entirely true; she felt that she could grow to love him, more than she loved Van, and in a different way.

But for now, they just held each other.

---

The clanging of footsteps up the side staircase broke them apart more effectively than a crowbar. "Someone's coming," Thomas whispered hoarsely. Fiona was suddenly all too aware of the dishevelled and tear-stained state they were both in. She raked her fingers back through her hair, trying to bring back a semblance of normality.

"You should get back on the computer," she said, wiping her face. He nodded, looking at her a moment before throwing himself into the computer chair, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with a fist. Fiona knew it was hopeless to look entirely natural, but they had to at least try, or there would be questions.

She turned back to the stairs in time to see Major Schubaltz appear. "I was told you two were up here," he explained, stepping off the stairs onto the landing.

Wondering just how many more odd situations she was going to land in before the night was over, Fiona managed a smile. "That's right. Thomas and I were just seeing to the activation of the tank's freezing mode."

"We had to mess around with some pretty dated systems, but everything's working now," Thomas added, spinning around in his chair and flashing a pretty convincing grin. "No one told us you'd be coming out to personally inspect this place, Karl."

Karl was giving them both strange looks, but apparently decided not to pry. "Well, I only made the decision about two hours ago. I would have waited until the morning, but I wanted to see the Zoid before the freezing process began. I'm glad we were able to apprehend Hiltz before he tried anything with it."

An awkward silence hung in the air. "Well then," Thomas said, perhaps a bit too loudly. "If no one objects, I might head back to Redstone. I want to talk to Van before he goes to bed." He jumped off the chair and crossed to the stairs that Karl had just come up. He looked back. "Fiona, you'll be able to get a ride with one of the others, right?" She could see that he didn't feel comfortable leaving like this, but she knew that if he wanted to leave that he should.

"Yes, sure. I was thinking of spending the night here anyway. I'm not tired at all."

"Good. I'll see you later at the base, Karl?"

"Most likely," the older Schubaltz said, eyes fixed on Thomas.

"Okay then. Good night!" And with that, Thomas was gone, his footsteps banging loudly on the metal stairs.

Karl stared after him a moment before turning to Fiona. The look he gave her made her feel like he could see right into the back of her head. She'd never been the recipient of that kind of penetrating look from him before. It made her want to find a hole to crawl into. He tapped the railing with a finger. "He's a good actor, isn't he?" he said.

"I, uh," she stammered, not expecting that kind of comment. "Yeah," she acquiesced, relieved to not have to keep up the pretence of normalcy anymore. "I never knew how good until tonight." Karl pulled up one of the chairs to the small table in the middle of the platform, and gestured for her to do the same.

"I'm actually rather surprised," he said as she sat down next to him, "that Thomas decided to tell you about that."

"How – how did you know that's what we were talking about?" she asked. A nasty thought occurred to her. "Oh goodness, it wasn't echoing all over the cave, was it?" He smiled a little, and shook his head.

"No. I could just tell from a number of things. Your strained attempt at being normal, for one." Fiona had to grin sheepishly at that. "Also, it was pretty obvious that you'd both been crying. And," he sighed, "there is only one thing that Thomas _could _tell you that would upset you both like that." They were both quiet for a while.

"I've been worried about him for a while now," she said. "He didn't seem happy."

"I think that's come about accidentally." Fiona looked questioningly at him. "Well, had you ever suspected beforehand that Thomas might not be quite as arrogant and confident as he appeared?" She thought about it.

"Only once … that time when Reese was controlling you. He was definitely different then. But I thought that was understandable."

"Yes, but other than that, he seemed absolutely fine. I think what's happened here is that, after an escalating series of damaging events, Thomas reached the point of breakdown again. I felt like that might happen, after hearing about the business with finding Raven in the storeroom. That situation was far too similar to what happened with Davies, and also the … other one.

"I'm certainly glad that this time, Thomas decided to open up to someone instead of keeping it locked up. He's not the type to tell anyone what he's feeling. It took me years to figure out what was going on with him, and I'm his brother." He glared at the tabletop. "I felt like such an idiot after that day when he nearly killed himself. After that, it seemed obvious that he was depressed. But hindsight doesn't bring people back to life. It was an extremely unpleasant wake-up call."

"We've all made that mistake though," Fiona said. "You couldn't have known if he wouldn't _let _anyone know." Karl didn't seem any less disgusted with himself.

"Family are meant to be able to spot these things. That's what families are for." He laced his fingers together on the table. "If I'd just been around more, I could have done something earlier. Fact is, when I was a kid I would do anything to stay away from home. I hated that place. I might have had a better relationship with my parents than Thomas did, but it definitely wasn't the loving sort. All I got was detached pride and, if I was exceptionally good, a 'You've done well, Karl'." He stared off across the dark cave walls, caught up in memories.

Fiona felt, and had been feeling ever since Thomas had begun his story, that she was intruding on this family's inner strife. But she was also now re-evaluating her thoughts about the brothers, and finding that things made more sense to her now.

"In any case," Karl said, "I hadn't been there for Thomas. It was sheer luck that I was there in time to save him that day to begin with. I only came home early because I needed his help with science." He shut his eyes. "That first night in the hospital was one of the worst things I've ever experienced ……"

---

Karl was finding it difficult to keep from panicking and barging into Thomas's room before he was allowed. The atmosphere of the hospital was not one of calmness or healing. It catered more towards the military than anything, and as such it was near full of wounded soldiers. He could hear agonized screaming coming from somewhere, and nurses, doctors and emergency trolleys were blitzing past constantly.

All he wanted was to find out if Thomas was okay. Evil, morbid thoughts kept crossing his mind about being too late, about being the last one to see his brother alive, but he was desperately keeping them at bay. He couldn't give in to pessimism. "Do not dwell on the worst case scenario," the teacher of military strategy had told them. "If you do, victory will never be yours."

Victory in battle was the last thing on his mind right now. It was a definite change from the past few months, which, since his eighteenth birthday, had been of nothing but the military. Now that he was of age, it was expected that he would head out to fight against the Helic Republic.

He didn't care about that. What he cared about was the nurse who had just come out of the emergency room Thomas was in.

Reminding himself at the last second not to latch onto the woman's collar and shake the information out of her, Karl skidded to a halt in front of her and asked, "Well? Is he okay? Can I see him?" The nurse's eyes swept him up and down, no doubt looking at his dirty and slightly bloody sporting clothes.

"Your brother is going to be fine," she said at last. Karl sagged with relief. "It was a close call though. He'll have to stay in the hospital for at least a week." She gave him a stern look. "Now, we've tried to contact your parents, but haven't been able to get through to them. Do you know where they are and how they can be contacted?"

Karl went pale. He hadn't even thought about his parents. What on Zi were _they _going to think? But wait …

"My parents … um, my parents went away to the mountains a couple of days ago. It's one of those really remote areas. They can't actually be contacted up there, because of the altitude." It was the truth; the lack of communications up there had been one of the reasons they'd gone. He was thankful for this small blessing. "They won't even be back for a few weeks."

The nurse looked extremely displeased with this information. "Protocol demands that we contact your brother's parents, Mr. Schubaltz. However," she added, "we've had literally hundreds of injured soldiers come in this week, and they're still coming in. The frontline is close, as you must know. So we can't spare the time to track them down."

Karl nodded, not particularly caring right now whether his parents were reachable. "So can I see him yet?" The nurse's expression hardened.

"No. Not yet. We will tell you when you can see him. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, brushing past him and striding down the crowded corridor. Karl stared after her in frustration, then threw himself back into the waiting chairs. He hated inaction.

It was four hours later when he was finally told he could go into the room. In that time, the cacophony of cries and shouting had increased tenfold as the latest group of wounded Imperials were rushed in. Karl had been almost at the point of clamping his hands over his ears to block out the awful noise, and was immensely glad to get out of that corridor.

The din from outside was mercifully cut off once he shut the door of Thomas's room. He stood next to the bed and looked down at his brother. Thomas looked sick and pale, even compared with the bleached white sheets. His wrists were tightly bandaged and an intravenous tube burrowed into his left arm.

Karl dragged over a chair from the corner and sat down next to the bed. He buried his face in his hands, forcing himself not to cry again. Crying never solved anything. He was the older brother, and he had to be the strong one. Especially now.

He looked up at a noise, and saw Thomas squinting up at the lights. He blinked a couple of times, taking in the room around him. Then he noticed Karl. His eyes snapped open all the way, and then trailed down to his wrist.

"Oh God," he whimpered. "Oh, _God…_" He turned away from Karl and started crying into the pillow. Karl felt hopelessly inadequate at knowing what to do. All he could think of was to hold his brother's hand as he suffered.

---

"Karl?" Fiona asked softly, dragging the Imperial out of his long reverie. "I hate to ask, but what did you ending up telling your parents?" He blinked, then smiled humourlessly.

"Nothing at all."

"Really? Didn't they notice that anything was wrong when they got back?"

"No, they didn't notice a thing. Thomas was discharged after seven days to make room for other patients, seeing as he was stable. Normal procedure states that he should have been sent to psychiatrist sessions, but what with the insanity of the war at the time, it must have not gotten through all the paperwork. So we came home, both pulled out of school for a while, and waited for them to come back. We both agreed that we didn't want our parents to know about this, so we simply didn't tell them." He shrugged at her expression. "I know. Normally, a parent would find out. I paid for the hospital bills out of my own savings, and I also handled a telephone call a week after they came back. I passed myself off as my father, so the hospital assumed that they knew after that.

"Before I was recruited into the army, I made some highly stupid, highly illegal arrangements, and managed to make myself Thomas's next of kin." He frowned at her, lifting a finger. "But don't you tell anyone that, or I'll be busted down to Private faster than Van can decapitate a Command Wolf."

"I won't tell," she laughed, glad to relieve some of the tension.

"Now," he said, getting up from his chair, "how about you show me around Hiltz's stronghold, and tell me what you know about it?"

"Sounds good to me."

---

Van wondered bleakly whether he would ever see the end of this scene, as he gazed into Raven's hospital room. How many more times would Raven end up in here, and how many more times would he be forced to chase him down? He sighed. He had a feeling that after today, he wouldn't be chasing Raven for a while yet.

Raven was stable, though he'd certainly done himself some damage in his wild attack on Hiltz. The doctor on duty had scolded him, yes, _him_, on letting Raven do things like this to himself. Van had been highly affronted: since when was he Raven's keeper?

Well, Raven was unconscious for now. Rather than worry about what kind of person he'd be this time when he woke up, Van decided that it was probably time for bed. It was almost one in the morning. Once again he'd been up for far too long, and done far too much. He was exhausted.

Turning to leave, he came face to face with Thomas. "Gah!" he yelped, falling back into the door in surprise. "Don't _do _that!" Thomas looked equally surprised.

"What, you didn't hear me?"

"Of course not! Don't sneak around so much, Thomas, you'll scare me to death one day."

"I wasn't _sneaking_," Thomas said irritably. "You were just so absorbed in that window that you didn't hear me." Van made a nothing sort of noise and glanced back in the window. "How is he?" asked Thomas, dropping his aggravated tone.

"He's fine," Van replied. "For the moment, that is." He sighed again. "Look, Thomas, I'm really beat. This day's been way too insane for my liking. I'm gonna hit the sack." He spun on his heel and started off down the hallway. "I'll go over Hiltz's base and stuff with you tomorrow, okay?" he called back, lifting an arm in goodbye.

He only got about seven steps down the corridor before he heard Thomas call out, "Van." Van stopped and looked back. Thomas fiddled with his glove for a moment before looking back up. "Would you mind if … we could talk now? There's something I want to tell you."

---

Zeke stood outside of the Rare Hertz caves. Strewn around his feet were the scraps of metal and wiring that had once been parts of two Zoids, and one organoid. He looked at the stars silently.

----------------------------------

Coming up soon, the last chapter of I'll Pity You When You're Gone. I'm going away until the 9th of January, so hopefully I'll be able to come back with most of chapter eleven completed in my notebook. I might also come back with the beginnings of a new Zoids fanfic, which will certainly not be as angst-ridden as this one.

Merry Christmas all, and have a good New Year too while you're at it.

- Vappa


	11. Bittersong

And here we are. At the end. Special thanks are at the end, but the last chapter is right here. Read it.

I do not own Zoids, and this is a work of fiction not made for any personal profit or gain.

-

I'll Pity You When You're Gone 

-

_Eleven: Bittersong_

-

Having had just about enough of swinging his legs over the bed, Van was glad to see doctor Flinn enter the room.

"So, Doc, give me the short and long of it," Van said, bringing his feet to a halt. Flinn dropped his clipboard onto the desk with a slap.

"Well, Lieutenant," he started, taking up his chair, "I'm happy to say that no, you didn't further aggravate the break in your arm yesterday. The x-rays didn't show any extra fractures or bone fragments." Van sighed with relief. What with all the running, fighting, and tackling he had done, he could have really hurt himself. That rather irrational jump from the cockpit probably hadn't helped the healing process either.

"Does this mean that I should still get this cast off on time?"

"Should do. Another nine days and it'll come off. I wouldn't recommend any more reckless behaviour in that time, though," Flinn said, giving Van a look reminiscent of one a school principal would give to a rampant rule-breaker.

"Oh, don't you worry," Van replied cheerily. He jumped off the bed and headed for the door. "I'm just about the _least _reckless person you'll ever meet."

Right on cue, Van's left, far healthier arm collided with the door frame. Biting down hard to stop from either yelling or squeaking in pain, he managed to force out, "That was planned," before he was completely out of the dubious doctor's sights.

Muttering some choice words about irony, Van massaged his elbow as he headed back along the hospital corridor. His coordination always took a nose-dive when he was tired, and he was, naturally, tired.

It had been close to one in the morning when he'd followed Thomas back to his room to talk. He'd had no idea of the kind of conversation he would end up having with the man. Otherwise, he might well have insisted to have it wait until the morning, if only for his own state of mind.

Though it was clearly something he disliked sharing, Thomas had launched into his story with little preamble, as though it had been rehearsed. He had taken a little less than half an hour to finally get to the centre of what he was telling Van: the thing he had done one afternoon ten years ago.

It had hit Van like a slap in the face. The shock of it left him either blank, or seething with a hundred emotions at once. He wasn't sure. What he did know was that he had gotten up off of the bed they were both sitting on, and stepped away.

"Um, could you just … excuse me, for a bit?" Thomas had stared at him.

"Where are you going?" Thomas had asked apprehensively.

"Just in here," Van had replied, slipping into the adjacent bathroom and shutting the door. Leaning back against the door, Van had let out a breath, and started to wrestle the maelstrom of his thoughts into order.

After a short eternity in that tiny space, coming to terms with all that had been said, Van had re-emerged. He had found Thomas in a despairing state, one hand pressed to his face.

Van had never been very good at dealing with emotional shock, yet even he realized that he had done exactly what Thomas must have been expecting him to do. He had run. It was the least sympathetic thing he could have done.

Whilst stumbling through an apology to the Imperial, Van found himself telling Thomas of his own strife in recent times. It was inadvertent to begin with, but he came to see it as the decent thing to do. Thomas had just told him what he had surely never told anyone other than Karl, and it was only fair that Van tell him what only he and Fiona knew.

Van sighed. Telling his own story, about his belief about murdering Raven and the trauma he'd stockpiled in his mind had taken a lot of time as well. He wasn't nearly as articulate as Thomas had been, so he had in fact taken _longer_. Which was, he thought, ridiculous, considering how paltry his own problems seemed in light of Thomas's.

Following that, and a lot of more superfluous conversation, it had been four by the time he made it to his bed. A grand total of four hours sleep later and here he was.

So tired and distracted was he that he'd already sailed right past a particular room before he noticed. Van stopped in his tracks, and looked back. Room B-18.

Raven's room.

He chewed his lower lip. Did he really want to look in there again? His feelings were a definite 'no', but his brain was reasoning that there was no harm in it. The guy was likely to be in another coma after all the stress he'd put himself through running down Hiltz.

Shrugging, Van turned on his heel and went back to the room. It never hurt to keep tabs on people.

He looked in the window and found himself locked in a stormy glare. Raven was most certainly not unconscious.

Flinching back unwittingly, Van sidestepped away from the door. That had been unexpected, to say the least. He hadn't meant to panic but he was still getting used to Raven's presence. Added to the fact that he was awake, and apparently aware, it had been somewhat disconcerting.

Van glanced back at the door once more before starting down the corridor again. He was still not ready for this. Especially not after yesterday.

He made it back to his room in a gloomy sort of haze. Once through the door it occurred to him that he should find out where Fiona was. Unfortunately, his exhaustion overwhelmed his concern.

Kicking off his boots, Van fell onto the bed and was asleep before he hit the sheets.

-

An irritating noise woke him. Moaning in annoyance, Van groped blindly for the alarm clock and pressed the snooze button. It made no difference whatsoever, and the noise continued.

Hefting himself off the bed with his elbows, Van squinted at the clock. The red numbers told him it was three past twelve, but the alarm light wasn't blinking, He frowned, gaze shifting right to the telephone.

More awake now, he registered that the noise was the phone ringing. He picked up the receiver. "Lieutenant Flyheight," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Finally! Where have you been, Van, I've been calling you for ten minutes."

"Oh, Fiona. You're back on the base?"

"Of course I am," Fiona replied, sounding vaguely exasperated. Somewhere in the background, Van heard Thomas shout, '_Has he picked up yet?_' "Yes," she called back. "Van," she addressed him again, "I've been calling because Karl's got to leave. We're seeing him off."

"He's what?" Van exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"Leaving. He got reassigned, seeing as the Hiltz issue has been resolved. Come down to the north runway, that's where we are."

"All right, I'm coming. Hold on 'til I get there." Van hung up the phone and cursed his jacket, which had conveniently gone missing.

After a hurried search, Van strode quickly through the hallway. He had known that the major would inevitably be sent elsewhere very soon, but he hadn't expected it to be the next day. Then again, the army didn't have majors to spare. It was selfish of them to demand he stay, just because they wanted him around.

As Van pushed through the doors into the brilliant sunlight, he knew that he, too, would no doubt be reassigned shortly. Thomas as well. There was a funny kind of regret he felt at that idea. They had just been through some of the most harrowing, emotionally draining events of their lives, yet he was remorseful that it would be over.

_It's not so much the trauma that I'll miss, _he reminded himself. _It's the bond we've managed to form. I don't want to break that so soon._

And to think, the catalyst of it all was Raven.

The north runway was not very active, but there were more operational Zoids there than had been in recent days. The repair effort was finally producing results. Van made a straight line towards the small group of people milling around Karl's Command Wolf. Fiona noticed him first.

"I knew you'd make it," she announced happily before trapping him in a hug.

"Whoa, what's the occasion?" Van said, surprised at the abrupt display of affection. Fiona just grinned at him.

"What, I can't hug you at will? And you're awake, which is quite an occurrence these days," she added.

"Ha ha, your rapier wit slays me."

The presence of the two Schubaltz brothers behind them was noticed when Karl cleared his throat. Thomas looked shrewdly at Van as he said, "It's been proven that sleeping more than ten hours is bad for your health, you know." Van gave him a withering look.

"Well, forgive me for making up for lost time." He turned to Karl. "So, reassigned?"

"Yes," said Karl. "I've been ordered to lead the contingent that's escorting Hiltz to the maximum security prison in outer Gaigalos. Everyone answers to a superior."

"I'll bet General Ramsey doesn't," Van grumbled.

"Oh, you'll find that he does," said Karl with a smile. "He answers to an unassuming fellow named Rudolph."

"Well now," Thomas interjected thoughtfully, watching something over Van's shoulder. "I don't think he'll give you any trouble, at least."

Four Imperials crossed the path to a Zaber Fang. Two of the soldiers carried Hiltz, either still unconscious or under sedation, on a stretcher to the Zoid.

"What kind of state's he in?" Van asked, watching as the soldiers began the arduous task of installing the prisoner in the Zaber Fang. Thomas shrugged one shoulder.

"Multiple lacerations, bruising, concussion. Bit of a fractured skull. Not surprising really." Van's thoughts briefly flashed to an enraged Raven laying into Hiltz ferociously, and sighed.

"Isn't that dangerous though?" Fiona said. "Should he really be moved when he's in that condition? It might cause permanent damage."

"It would be tragic, but it can't be helped," Karl said dismissively, and Van got the distinct impression that no one really gave a damn if Hiltz was hurt further or not.

"What about Ambient?" Van said, having just remembered the red organoid. "He might have escaped during all the confusion."

Fiona shook her head. "We did a diagnostic scan on the Lightning Saix last night. We aren't entirely certain, but the readouts on the core show some anomalies that might indicate an organoid was fused to it when it was destroyed. Those kinds of readouts don't show after an organoid has disengaged, even if it's merged with the core many times before."

"There's been no sign of Reese or her organoid either," Karl added, dislike written all over his face. "The systems in the Rare Hertz care make references to her, so she was definitely involved to some degree."

"We'll never have a fully conclusive answer," Thomas said. "The facts are just too ambiguous."

"More answers might be received once Hiltz is in a good enough condition to question. In the meant time, we'll have to be vigilant in case Reese or the organoids make any move."

"Major Schubaltz!" called out a technician. "The pilots are ready, and the prisoner secured. You're clear for takeoff whenever you're ready."

Karl acknowledged the man with a nod. "I'll keep you all posted on Hiltz. Until I see you next, keep safe." He clasped hands with Van and Fiona. "Thomas, could I have a word?" he added, indicating the other side of the Command Wolf.

As the brothers left, Van glanced at Fiona. "You look different," he observed. She stared at him, perplexed.

"What do you mean, different?"

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "You're just different somehow."

Fiona looked at him, then back towards where Karl and Thomas had gone. "Aren't we all," she murmured.

It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

After a time, they saw Karl climb the Command Wolf's ladder and open the cockpit. Thomas came back over to them, looking markedly graver than before. Fiona laid a hand on his arm. "Is something wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"Not at all," he said, relaxing his posture a little. "Just sorry to see him go."

They stood back as the three-Zoid group prepared to leave. With a bellow, Karl's Command Wolf bounded off in the lead, closely followed by the two yellow Zaber Fangs. The runway vibrated until the last Zoid was out of sight over the ride at the end of Redstone Compound.

-

Something in the line of code was just not working.

Frustrated, Thomas ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the screen. He had been writing new program patterns for BEAC all week, and he couldn't seem to be satisfied with it.

The background noise of blowtorches and electric saws drew his attention away from the computer. He was in the storage shed where the Di Bison was being repaired; the crew had done a great job in the four days they had been working on it. The melded and ruined metal from the Gunsniper's shot had been removed, the inner circuitry replaced, and now the new shells of armour were being welded into place.

There was an incredible amount of noise, but Thomas still preferred to work in there rather than in one of those stuffy communications labs. He enjoyed seeing his Di Bison take shape again.

Returning his mind to the program, Thomas could not pinpoint what was bothering him about it. Cursing under his breath, he erased the entire line and started again.

The new line of code was not much of an improvement. Feeling like he was going in circles, Thomas exited the program in irritation. He was probably spending too much time on it. When he thought about it, what was he trying to improve with the BEAC program? Efficiency and accuracy, yes, but he didn't really have a definite reason for writing up new source codes at the moment. There was nothing wrong with BEAC.

_You're being evasive, _sneered a little voice in his mind. Thomas pushed the thought away. That wasn't true. He had not been avoiding Fiona and Van. It was more a case of separate interests. Fiona was always heading back and forth between the Rare Hertz caves with the research teams, so she wasn't around a lot of the time. Van seemed distracted, by what Thomas couldn't guess. If anything, Van was being more avoidant than Thomas these days.

Inevitably, he remembered what Karl had said to him before he left, four days ago. "Look, I never enjoy saying goodbye to you," Karl had said, "but I particularly don't like it this time, what with everything that's gone on. I'll just say this… you've done something very admirable in telling the others what you did, but you can't believe that will be the end of it."

"I don't understand," Thomas had said.

"I know you don't. But here's my advice to you: don't panic, and don't make excuses. Those have always been your negative traits, 'Mas."

_I'm not making excuses,_ he thought. They were valid reasons. Both Van and Fiona were on the base right now. There was nothing stopping him from going and talking to them, if he so wished.

Maybe that was it. Thomas closed the portable computer with a snap. It wasn't that there were valid reasons why he couldn't go; it's that his mind was making them up at every opportunity. He was still doing it, even after learning to trust them.

Casting one more look at the Di Bison, Thomas crossed the shed to the doorway. Technology could wait. He really needed to spend some time with human beings, for once.

-

Fiona was glad that it wasn't lunch hour. She had been in the food hall before when it was lunch hour, and although being in the middle of a raucous group of soldiers had its charms, she could only handle so much of it at a time.

Life had been slow since Major Schubaltz left. The three of them had yet to be reassigned by the Guardian Force, and as a result there was little for them to do. Fiona had been assisting the research team up at the Rare Hertz caves, owing to the fact that the place interested her, and she was often able to sense hazards there before the soldiers came across them. She was not certain, but the cave had an archaic, familiar feeling that suggested it might have been in use in Ancient Zoidian times. The idea fascinated her; she had come across so little from the Ancient times that she could understand.

The book she was reading, like most others in her collection, was one of exposition about the Ancient Zoidian artefacts that had been discovered over time. What made this book interesting was that it was an Imperial one. Whilst all the Republican books on the subject she had borrowed from Doctor D were good, the Imperial archaeologists had discovered some different things, and had quite separate theories as to their purposes. She continued reading the section on Zoidian architecture.

_Although not much remains on the site today, the Zeppelin expedition of fifty years ago found enough of the original structure to provide a possible reconstruction of the area. It seems that the building which may be a temple was part of a larger complex with the same component parts as a necropolis complex. This includes a lesser temple in the valley and a connecting causeway to the-_

Flipping the page, Fiona had doubts that the area pictured would have had anything to do with a necropolis. It wasn't anything in particular; she just felt that it was not a funerary structure.

"You shouldn't frown so much." Fiona looked up to see Thomas standing next to her table. "I know intellectuals write in the most boring method possible, but glaring at the book won't change that." She smiled at him.

"Actually, it has nothing to do with their stuffy intellectual speak," she informed him. "I'm more concerned with their stuffy archaeologist inaccuracies. You can sit down, you know."

Thomas blinked, and then sat down in the chair next to her, putting his portable computer on the table.

"Were you coding things again?" Fiona asked. "I don't know how you can do that all day long. I mean, sure, you're good at it, but it must get boring."

"Why do you think I packed up and left it?" he replied. "Besides, I had no idea what I was doing anyway. Work for the sake of work."

"I hear the Di Bison is coming along well."

"Yes, well, it's got a proper head again, which is useful. I've probably forgotten how to pilot the thing, it's been in the shop for so long."

"Oh, you'll jump back into it in no time."

"So…" Thomas said, lifting the book to peer at the cover. "'_Structures and Artefacts of the Past_'. Interesting?"

"I think it is." Fiona paused. "Want to read it with me?"

"Sure. But don't go too fast now; I'm only a simple Zoid technician."

-

Nine days after Hiltz had been captured, and Van was still stuck in between his two main opinions. Opinion one was that he was not going to get involved with Raven again, that going to see him would be stressful and he did not want to do it.

Opinion two was that he was dwelling far too much on Raven to have any choice other than confronting him. He was distracted, agitated, and tired, and it was all because he couldn't come to terms with what was going on with Raven. He had to talk with him.

Sooner or later, he was going to drive himself to insanity with his indecision. What was the problem, anyhow? He should just go into that room and demand to know … something.

There was the other problem: he had no idea what he would say once he went in there. Van knew he was desperate for something, some piece of information he had not received, but he didn't know what. It was frustrating.

He inevitably came to the conclusion that, no matter how much he didn't want to do it, he would have to speak with Raven if he ever wanted to get answers. He knew that most of his reluctance still came from his fourteen year-old self, and his uncertainty at what kind of Raven he would find.

Shaking his head, Van pulled on his jacket and left the room. He had to stop putting it off. The matter was – or should have been – clear cut. He wanted to talk with Raven, and so he would.

The corridors of the hospital wing were quiet, save the occasional scuffle of a nurse passing between rooms. Most of those injured in the attack had been discharged for some time now. The only patients still in the hospital were those newly wounded in petty skirmishes with bandits, or the ones who had been hurt severely.

Van passed into the B corridor with hardly a glance at the Imperial soldier standing guard there. He had already cleared himself to do this a few days ago, even though he hadn't actually followed through on that day. The guards had been placed at either end of the corridor only a few days ago, after the doctors reported that Raven was quite capable of walking on his own again. The army didn't want to take any chances after what happened last time.

Van thought the precautions seemed pretty lax; but then, they were still only guarding a hospital patient. According to his medical reports, Raven wouldn't be a threat for a little while yet.

He came at last to room B-18, where he hesitated. His gut feeling was that he wasn't ready for this. But he'd been feeling like that forever, and if it wasn't going to change on its own, he'd have to force it.

Van went inside.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was not Raven, dressed in his piloting outfit, putting on his boots. As the door banged shut behind him, Raven glanced up and noticed Van standing there in shock. They stared at each other for almost a minute.

"I didn't realize you were coming," Raven said eventually, returning his attention to his boot.

Still trying to get his brain back into gear, Van said, "What do you think you're doing?"

"It would appear I'm getting dressed."

"Don't be a smartass!" snapped Van. "You're doing a runner, aren't you?" Raven ignored him, snapping the clasps together on his boot and reaching for the other one. "I can't _believe_ you. You're supposed to be injured! Don't you realize that's the only thing that's stopped us shipping you straight off to prison?"

"Yes, I do," Raven replied blandly, not looking up. "Which is why I'm leaving now, before I get 'well enough' to be convicted."

"Damn it, if we'd _known _you were well enough, we would have sent you along with Hiltz!"

Raven flinched. He slowly looked up at Van. Van tried not to let his anger dissipate under that steel glare, but it did. Suddenly, he felt like he was fourteen again, being bared down upon by the Geno Saurer for the first time.

Eventually, Raven looked away. He snapped another clasp shut on his right boot, with his left hand. His other, the right, was still wrapped in a bandage.

Van had seen the wound on his right palm, on that first night when he'd been told of Raven's injuries after his collapse. He had never known where he got it; but he could guess. It was deep, and most likely would never heal properly. It was reopened too often.

"You should have let me kill him, you know." There was only a hint of anger in his voice, but Van caught it anyway.

"What difference would it have made?" he said. "Just another dead person to your name. There was no point in it."

"He deserved to die for what he did," Raven snapped, whipping his head up to lock eyes with Van again. "You don't know the half of what he's done." The rage faded from his face and he turned away again. "He'll get the death sentence anyway. What does it matter?"

Van was finding this to be very surreal. Raven wasn't acting like either his old self or like his deadened self. It was some fluctuating shift between the two, near as he could tell. It was throwing him off, because at least if Raven was angry, he could be angry back.

"You don't honestly think I'm going to stand here while you leave?" Van asked, watching as Raven finished with his boots and stood up. The renegade picked up his battered tan shirt and pulled it on, with his back to Van.

"I don't know what to think where you're concerned. I'll just have to see, won't I?"

Van scowled in annoyance. "After all this, I'd have to be an idiot to let you escape again. After all you've put me through?" Van's emotional lines were fraying. "After all the _pain _you've caused me? The pain you've caused others? You didn't even care about what you were doing to others. You didn't stop for anything! It was up to _me _to make you stop. It was _me _who had to _kill _you."

Turning around again, Raven stalked across the room and snatched Van around the neck with his fingers. "And you think that was a terrible experience for _you_?" he snarled, anger building in his eyes again. "You think it was such a horrible ordeal for _you_, to be the killer? I can't even begin to tell you how much pain I was in when that gravity cannon hit the cockpit. If it wasn't for Shadow, then I-" Raven stopped short. Van stared at him, riddled with old panic, frozen under Raven's nails digging into his skin. Emotion withering, Raven stepped away from Van and removed his hand.

Van massaged his throat nervously. Raven was a goodly distance away now, but he still wasn't comfortable, knowing that he could flare up again at any time. It seemed though that Raven couldn't hold his anger very long.

Casting Van a dull look, Raven returned to the other side of the room. "I hate you, Flyheight," he said quietly. "More than anything. Part of me wants nothing so badly as to grab hold of you again and choke the life right out of you." He sighed. "But another part of me … really does not care anymore."

Van, still near the door, rubbed his arm absently. He had gotten the cast off in the morning. It was still stiff, but it was good to have it back in working condition. Right now, though, his arm wasn't bothering him.

"I hate you as well, you know." He did not know if Raven was looking at him, because his gaze was fixed on the wall. "God knows, I tried not to. I wanted to be your friend. But I hate you, and that will never change. I was sorry for you, when I thought you'd died, but it was only because you weren't around anymore." He paused. "I still feel sorry for you, and for what happened to Shadow. But I will never stop hating you for what you did to me."

Glancing up, he found Raven watching him through narrowed eyes. He looked more tired than he'd ever seen him. Then he shifted, and he was impassive again.

Raven reached up to the window and fiddled with one of the screws. He pulled it out. Removing three other screws from the frame, already loosened, he pulled the unattached glass out with a grunt and dropped it onto the hospital bed. Stepping onto a chair near the window he put one foot on the empty frame. He looked back at Van.

"There will be five minutes until an alarm is raised," he said. Van understood. A window of time to allow Van to look blameless, should he decide not to raise the alarm himself or take Raven down now. He kept an expressionless face when meeting Raven's eyes. Raven looked much the same. "Bye," he said simply.

With a rustle and a jump, he was gone.

Gazing at the empty window for a moment, Van turned and left room B-18. Shutting the door behind him, he walked at a sedate pace down the hallway.

He watched his feet as he walked. Nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected it to. Then again … everything seemed to turn out all right in the end regardless. Passing the guard at the end of the hall, he turned and kept going.

Despite himself, he had to grin as the alarm sirens started to blare out overhead.

-

Van leaned back against the Blade Liger's leg as he watched the fiery sunset out the open gateway. There were still some soldiers rushing around, surveying damage and reporting to senior officers, but the scene had quieted down some time ago.

There was no sign of Raven. Hijacking another Zaber Fang, he had blasted his way out of the base in the early afternoon and tore off into the desert at top speed. Damage was minimal, as far as the base was concerned, but the damage to the soldiers' morale was quite bad. The infamous war criminal had disappeared again, and this time, no one had been able to track him down.

Van had gone out with them to search, but to no avail. Even if he had been actively trying to find where Raven had gone, he wouldn't have found it. The man knew how to vanish when he wanted to.

Growling, Zeke sidled up next to him. Van smiled and rubbed the organoid's head. "Yeah, I think so too," he said. "It's better this way."

"Van!"

He turned to see Fiona and Thomas come across the runway to him. They looked worried. "Have they found anything?" Fiona asked. Van shook his head.

"Nope, not a trace. He's completely gone."

"Oh, dear. I don't know what poor Captain Reyes is going to tell the General," she said sadly. "It's not really his fault."

"Don't worry, we can file the report," Thomas said. "It was the Guardian Force's duty as well, seeing as we were the ones who captured him." He caught Van's eye. "How're you holding up?"

Van shrugged. "Fine, really. I don't mind." The two of them looked at each other, surprised.

"But, Van, aren't you upset?" asked Fiona hesitantly. "I mean, he's out there again, and he knows who he is now." Van caught on that what was really worrying Thomas and Fiona was how he was reacting to the whole ordeal, not what Raven was supposedly doing out in the wilderness. He smiled a bit.

"I can't say that I'm entirely happy, but I'm fine with it. I think this might be the last we ever hear of Raven."

The four of them looked out across the orange-drenched sand of the desert. Part of the wall on the gate was shattered, having been nicked in the Zaber Fang's flight from the base.

"By the way," Thomas said after a while, "Colonel Davies called me half an hour ago." Van looked over at him. Colonel Davies was the director of the Imperial Guardian Force operatives. "He's got a new assignment, about twelve hundred and fifty miles west of here. We're moving out in the morning."

"We?" Fiona queried.

"Oh yes, it's a joint Republican-Imperial mission. All three of us have to go."

"Twelve hundred and fifty miles though," sighed Fiona. "That'll take us ages."

"Terrific. I'll have plenty of time to teach you about text-based command systems then." Thomas had that obsessive glint in his eye that he got when talking about anything technical. "It's a travesty that you don't know anything about them. Even more so that you think the GUI systems are _better_. Why, the flexibility and customisation available to text-based systems alone are enough to-"

"Thomas," Van interrupted, "has anyone ever informed you that you're the most boring man on the planet?"

-

The leaves in the forest rustled softly in the wind. Sunlight streamed down through the thick vegetation, piercing the ground in places with warmth and light. A bird flicked down out of the trees and skimmed across the surface of the tiny lake, twittering and swooping amongst the insects. Clicks, buzzes and animal cries echoed along the water, which was still and clear.

On the sandy edge of the water was a block of coarse stone. Lodged in the earth, it was vaguely rectangular in shape. Words had been chiselled into it roughly.

_Shadow._

_You meant the world to me, though I never could see it myself. _

_I will always remember._

_Bittersong._

In the silence of the forest, leaves fluttered down.

-

**_The End_**

-

Special thanks:

To Pointytilly, for listening to me bitch about being a bad author and helping me with Zoids information and structuring problems.

To Plink and Pochyakko, for being my earliest inspirations in the Zoids fanfiction area.

To the people at Zoids Evolution Forums, for putting up with my newbie-ish questions and entertaining my love of Raven.

To Red Baroness, for being my most faithful and consistent reviewer. You even followed me here from the Golden Sun section. And for that gorgeous piece of fanart. Thanks so much.

To Feirdra, for being my second most consistent reviewer.

To Sh33p, for leaving me two of the most complex, awesome reviews I've ever received. And hopefully one more.

And finally, to **every single one **of my reviewers. I mean it when I say I could never have done this without you guys. You gave me boosts every time I hit writer's block, and we know that was an awful lot of the time. Thanks to any future reviewers as well, because I love you too, even though you may not get a new note saying so.

It's been a long two years, one month and eighteen days, but I made it. Thanks again. Hope to see you again some time!

- Vappa


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